Secrets of a Mage, Seduction of a Templar
by RedHawkeRevolver
Summary: "What kind of life can a mage have? So, I am not a mage." Evelyn has kept her magic secret her whole life. Cullen doesn't know what it is about her that makes him feel so strange. Can a mage be seduced into revealing her secrets? Can a Templar be seduced into accepting them? Cullen x f!Trevelyan. Other DA:I and DA:2 characters; eventual other pairings. Mix of canon and AU.
1. Death and Denial

**_Secrets of a Mage, Seduction of a Templar_**

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_A/N: Okay. So. Here we go. This is a different Cullen x Trevelyan than I've been writing in my series of short stories (which I'm still writing for), so this is a stand-alone story that will be more involved. I've been wanting to commit to something longer for my new favorite couple and give myself something substantial to work on. As a warning, I like AUs, so this will have both canon and AU elements. It's fanfic for heaven's sake so I feel like anything goes as long as you're having fun. I prefer to weave known story elements into novel scenes to keep things interesting. I have some half-written chapters for this story already but not in order, so I'm going to have to write my way to them. I wish I was one of those writers who have everything written before they post but frankly, since I write for a fun-stress-relief hobby, it makes me happy to post things as I write them and then it also gives me motivation to keep writing since I refuse to leave things unfinished. Anyway, if you're still reading, Thanks! As always my goal is to write something I'd want to read myself, but it also makes my day if someone else enjoys it as well. This is only the second 'long' story I've ever tried to write (It took me ten months, but I did finish the first one!), so, fingers crossed! Thanks and wish me luck, RHR._

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**_Chapter 1: Death and Denial_**

When she opened her eyes, all she could think was that they'd found her out.

_They know. They know. They know!_

She was chained to the floor and surrounded by grey stone and she could feel the cold of metal and rock in her bones. The steady drip of water somewhere echoed and it was a deafening cacophony in the otherwise silent cell. And her hand. Her hand _burned_.

She wasn't sure if it was the pain of the relentless burning that kept her silent during most of her interrogation or if it was the second nature of her years of forced and practiced silence. Either way, in those first few moments she was determined not to admit to anything even if they knew everything.

_Deny, deny, deny._

She chanted in her head. She knew she hadn't used any magic. Evelyn Trevelyan _never_ used any magic. Because Evelyn Trevelyan _wasn't_ a mage. They couldn't make her admit to it, no matter what they did.

But when it became apparent that the two women didn't seem to know much of anything, her panic started to subside. It didn't have a chance to recede completely, however, because her actual situation soon became clear.

She had been with the Chantry representatives at the Conclave, all now dead save her. At first, she was accused.

"I don't think you realize just how unimportant I am, Seeker." She replied spitefully. "What possible motivation would I have to do such a thing? Not to mention, how in the Void do you think I could have accomplished the feat? I was with the lay sisters, I was a scribe for the clerics. My brother..."

The word caught in her throat and reality struck her hard. Her brother was dead. Her brother who had watched over her, protected her, taught her everything she knew, was dead. She managed to choke out the rest of her sentence.

"...My brother was a Templar. He was with us, he accompanied our group. He was loyal to the Chantry, _as am I_." She closed her eyes against tears._ Not here. Not now. Stay strong. Mourn later._ "We come from a good family." Her tone was more pleading than she would have liked. "I have no idea what happened, or what this is!" She held up her burning appendage and the sickening green light of it seemed to burn itself into the backs of her eyes as well.

She had said all she was going to say. After that, she spoke only when spoken to. At least her subsequent answers had started going over better. She came from a good family. She was loyal. She knew exactly what to say and how to say it. And she would do and say whatever she had to so long as they never found out.

She did as she was told and used the strange mark on her hand to help them as much as she could. It nearly killed her for a second time, apparently. Those first hours were a blur of fighting, pain and sorrow and then the world went black for her again. When next she woke, she was in a bed. She tried to sit up but thought better of it when her head spun and her stomach turned. She clenched her fist against the burning that was still there. So much for the hope that this was all a nightmare.

Someone stirred beside her and took her hand. She felt healing magic course through her. She glanced up to see the solemn-looking elf she had met in the valley.

"It still pains you?" He asked her with a lack of inflection.

She remained silent.

"Do you feel anything else from it?" He tried another question.

Still she remained silent.

"Does anyone else know what you are?"

She snatched her hand back and retreated away from him, pushing herself to the other side of the bed. "What?"

"Do they know you're a mage?"

Panic rose up inside her. What was she to do? Had he told them? Could she kill him? Could she run away? What would her brother have told her to do?

_Deny, deny, deny._

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said in a high-pitched voice that didn't sound like her own. "I come from a good family. I'm loyal to the Chantry. My brother was a Templar." And he taught me to say these things...

"Your secrets are your own." The elf, Solas, said calmly. "I've told no one, nor will I."

_Don't acknowledge it, say nothing_, she told herself. He continued. "The mark does not appear to have affected your magic at all. Should you wish to use it, your magic that is, you should be able to do so without consequence."

Without consequence? _Without consequence?!_ The elf must be mad. But how could she have expected different from an apostate? Her whole life had been about consequences. Avoiding them. Hiding from them. Praying and learning and stifling and hoping against hope she would never have to face them.

"I...I'm no _mage..." _She stammered, spitting out the last word as if it was poison.

The elf's placid countenance grew stern. "I've said I will tell no one of your magic if you choose to continue to conceal it." He sounded disgusted with her now. "Though I've no idea how you managed to do so for this long. But it is in your best interests to be honest with me at least. I've said that the mark is not affecting you for now, but I have no idea if that might change in the future. Therefore, anything you can tell me about it, especially if you feel it affecting your magic, will help me to help you."

_Help me to help you_. Her brother had said that to her once a very long time ago. And he had helped her. He had been everything to her. He had given her a life when it so easily could have been taken away. He had protected her and their family. Now he was gone. And she had no idea what the future held for this life he had given her.

She was suddenly so tired and somehow, maintaining her silence seemed harder than moving a mountain. "Why would you not tell them?" She asked so softly, he might not have heard. Perhaps she didn't want him to hear.

"As I said, your secrets are your own. We all have things about ourselves we wish to protect; that aren't for the prying eyes of others." He seemed to grow distant at that statement, but said no more.

With a weary resignation, she spoke. "I was taught to hide my magic, so that I wouldn't be taken away to the Circle. My family..." The words formed and came out of their own accord. "My family is...influential in the Chantry. There would be no place for a mage. And what life can a mage have anyway? So I am _not_ a mage." She said pointedly. Then she steeled herself and straightened in the bed. "I would have it remain as such." She stared at Solas unblinking.

"Though I do not understand, I will protect you as much as I am able from the truth you choose to deny. After all, it's clear you have a larger purpose here."

"It is all I ask." She said. "As to a larger purpose..." She rose from the bed. "If it is the Maker's will, I will help if I can."


	2. Chants and Comfort

**_Chapter 2: Chants and Comfort_**

She made him uncomfortable. But it was an odd sort of discomfort that he couldn't quite place. At first he thought it was the mark pulsing eerily green on her hand. He still had enough lyrium in his blood to feel that the magic of it was not natural. He couldn't help but think, however, that it wasn't only the mark.

Something about her sang. The song agitated his senses. He was agitated enough as it was. It was quiet, barely heard, more felt, and smelled and tasted in the air around her. It was softly lilting with a drumbeat underneath and he felt the thump of it in his chest. Like calm water with wild currents below the surface. It made his skin itch trying to process all the sensations she stirred in him and the spinning feeling in his head she always left him with did nothing but worsen his headaches.

She made him uncomfortable. That magic carved into her hand and its connection to the breach in the sky made him..._uncomfortable_. But it was not for him to question the Maker's will. For some reason she had been chosen by divine providence to help their cause; perhaps the only one who could help their cause. She wasn't put before him as a personal trial, despite how she made him feel.

She was lingering again. The 'Herald of Andraste'. Lady Trevelyan. Evelyn. He thought he had heard Varric call her 'Kitten'. Curious like a cat the dwarf had said. Cullen thought to say that curiosity killed the cat but he stopped himself, not wanting to seem cynical. He was trying to turn over a new leaf, after all, start a new life. But it was difficult with so much of the past still hanging on.

He supposed the nickname fit. The girl did seem to feel the need to speak with everyone about absolutely anything and everything. The only time she wasn't willing to engage in a topic of conversation was when the topic was her. She would suddenly grow quiet and give only short modest replies. That bothered him too, especially since the first time she had approached him to talk, she managed to draw out of him more inane facts about himself and the Templar Order than he'd told anyone, possibly ever.

He cringed when he remembered how she maneuvered him into commenting on the state of his vows, or lack thereof, on chastity. He'd wanted to crawl into a hole after that conversation. Or hit her. But again, he was trying to make a new start. Violence against Andraste's Chosen would hardly be putting his best foot forward.

Why she needed to hear these things from him he had no idea. She had said her late brother was a Templar and from what he'd heard, half the Templars in Ostwick were her relations in one form or another. He didn't need these distractions. Least of all from someone who made him uncomfortable. He didn't want that mark anywhere near him, if that was indeed what made her feel so strange. He'd had enough magic near him to last a lifetime.

_But you seem to keep forgetting, this is your _new_ life..._

He brought his attention back to her lingering. She was sitting on the far wall, watching his recruits train. If she wasn't asking questions, she was watching something. Studying something. Her curious eyes bright and receptive. As he watched her watch his soldiers wield their weapons, it occurred to him he hadn't actually seen her fight yet. Cassandra claimed she was competent, but he supposed as the Commander of these forces he owed it to his men to assure that her skills were adequate if she was going to be fighting beside them. An army was only as good as its weakest link. He couldn't allow her to be that weak link.

Cullen rubbed at the throbbing in his temples and then at the knots in the back of his neck. Trying to ignore the strange feeling of her aura, he approached her.

"Lady Trevelyan." He called out as amicably as he could manage.

She startled upon seeing him. She hopped down from the wall and started fidgeting with her hands, hiding the marked one behind her back.

He couldn't help but think maybe it made her feel just as strange as it made him feel. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt for his aversion to her. She was the poor soul who had been marked against her will with magic. And he knew something of being subjected to magic against one's will.

He took a deep breath. Even with the space and cold air between them he almost felt like he was inhaling some of her essence. It made him feel...He didn't know what it made him feel. It had been so long since he'd felt normal, if he even remembered what that felt like anymore. Her, her mark, this place, their situation, the tear in the Veil, the lyrium left in him and the lyrium he refused to take but still craved, all if it was abnormal. But it wasn't her fault. It wasn't his fault. It just was.

He would pray for strength as always and he would move forward. He resolved to try and be more accepting of her as he did so. There were a great many things he needed to work on accepting, best start small. So he spoke to her.

"Does the mark trouble you?" _Why would he ask her that?_ He felt his own eyes grow wide with embarrassment at the inappropriate question brought on by having it too much on his mind. He was here to test her combat skills, not venture into the esoteric.

She pulled her hand further behind her back. "It's fine, Commander. I...It's...it just is." She said softly. He couldn't help but smile a little at his own thoughts mirrored in her statement. "Thank you for asking." She added politely. Good breeding and all, he assumed. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing your drills. I'll take my leave."

She moved to walk away, but he grabbed her arm and held her in place. He ignored the tingle in his fingertips at the touch even through the thick leather of his gloves. He dropped his hand from her and flexed the sensation out of his skin, clasping his hands behind his back and clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Please, stay. I've been meaning to ask you about any training you may have had in the past. Seeker Pentaghast said you have some skill with daggers. You'll need it in the days to come. If I can offer any assistance in that regard so that you feel more comfortable engaging in combat, I would be happy to help." _Well, not happy, exactly._ He wasn't sure he knew what that was anymore either. He would just be helping, because that was his duty.

"Thank you again, Commander, I would greatly appreciate it. My brother taught me to defend myself and I trained with him quite often." Cullen could hear the sadness of loss in her voice. He wanted to sympathize, but he was numb to loss by now. She would overcome it because she had to and be stronger for it. Sympathy wouldn't change that. "If I could train with the soldiers when I'm able I'm sure it would help me to better serve."

She seemed sincere in her desire to serve the greater good. She was still young. That would change. Especially if Cassandra and Leliana succeeded in throwing her at the Breach like a sacrificial lamb.

_Stop being so cynical_, he chastised himself. _New life. New start. New Beginning,_ he chanted inside his head.

"Of course, Herald." He said with as much positive energy as he could gather. "No time like the present. Perhaps you could show me some of what you've been taught?"

"Could you please call me Evelyn, Commander?" She was looking down and speaking to the dirt, so he wasn't sure he'd heard her.

"Excuse me, My Lady?"

"It's strange claiming a title I haven't earned. I'd prefer to be called by my name. It's better to have something to aspire to then to be given something you don't quite know what to do with, don't you agree?"

_What an odd statement._ Cullen couldn't say if he agreed or not. He had needed to earn everything he'd ever had. He wouldn't know much about the opposite. If she had a deeper meaning, his head was hurting too much to notice it. "I...uh...I'll try to remember, My Lady."

xxxx

He made her feel comfortable. Maybe it was just the comfort of the familiar. He felt like a Templar. She could hear the singing in his blood. It was a very secure feeling. She knew he could protect her if it came to it. Or protect others from her if it came to that. And he was easy to talk to. There was something about him that tried very hard. Tried hard to answer her questions. Tried hard to fulfill his duties. Tried hard to seem normal. She could sympathize with that.

She wondered what it was that he was hiding. Or perhaps running from. They were the same things in the end. She knew enough of both to see it in others. She knew enough for a lifetime.

Not for the first time since waking up in Haven, after her disclosure to Solas, her mind wandered to thoughts of making this a new life for herself, a new start, where she could stop running and hiding.

But change was hard when you've only ever known one way to exist and known the many good reasons why things were the way they were.

_So maybe not. At least for now._

That being said, she would have to start keeping herself in check. It would be too easy to cling to him. Too safe. The Maker had seen fit to put her on this path, for better or worse. It wouldn't do to cling to the safety of others when it was clear she would have to learn to manage on her own and fulfill whatever tasks were put before her.

She would focus and she would serve.

"How would you like to begin, Commander?"

xxxx

"Allow me to spar with the Herald, Commander." Sister Leliana's voice coming up behind him startled him enough to reach for his sword. He stopped himself before he drew it free. He _hated_ how she could just appear without warning. His fist tightened around the hilt of his blade.

_New life. Things are different. There's no need to react like this._

He relaxed his hand. She would hardly be an effective Spymaster if she was obvious. And he would hardly be an effective general if he was passive. All things equal. No harm done.

She continued talking. "You'll better be able to assess areas in need of improvement if you can observe her in action."

"Thank you for your assistance." Cullen replied curtly and he settled in to watch as the two women armed themselves with practice weapons. They took up a position in front of him and waited for him to give the signal.

He paused a moment to study Trevelyan's stance, but his eyes were drawn to her lips. She seemed to be mouthing words under her breath. He couldn't make it out, and he wasn't there to be watching her lips. But he licked his own, before saying,

"Begin."

The two women circled each other warily, then Leliana started to test their Herald. The girl had good form, Cullen had to admit. Her brother did well in teaching her and it was obvious she had been instructed by a Templar. He mused he wouldn't mind having a few more Trevelyans to add to his ranks. He wondered if any of the Templars in her family could be persuaded to join their cause. He knew Josephine already asked her to write to her family for support in their diplomatic endeavors. Perhaps he could ask after some military support.

Most of Kirkwall's garrison had followed him, jaded lot that they were. There were a few he had had to refuse. In the end they had joined with him against Meredith, but he knew dangerous men when he saw them.

The Inquisition was committed to a new world and the prejudices of the past could not be tolerated. They had mages with them now. Those desirous of peace were welcome, no matter who they were before, but those still trapped in the past would only cause discord. Change was needed. Maker knew the way it had been was a failure in more ways than one.

Cullen was quickly satisfied that he wouldn't have to do much to make sure their de facto figurehead could keep herself alive and not put others at risk. His critical gaze eased as the women continued to fight.

Cassandra came up beside him. He had heard her measured and armored footfalls half a dozen paces before she reached him. They nodded silently to each other.

"Are you satisfied with her?" The Seeker eventually asked.

"No. But she's a perfectly competent fighter."

Cassandra turned on him with a questioning look. "Is there something you object to regarding the Herald, Commander?"

_Shit. Had he said that out loud? _"I...uh...no, I didn't mean..." He stammered out a gruff retraction. "...there's nothing wrong with her."

_Everything is wrong with her. I feel wrong when I look at her. Fuck, when didn't he feel wrong? It has nothing to do with her. _He silenced his errant thoughts quickly and placed his attention back on her movements as she continued to dance with Leliana.

The Herald was lithe, fluid, quick and satisfying when she landed a blow. If he was honest with himself, now that he studied her as a physical object only and ignored the sensation of her, she was actually quite lovely. If he continued to be honest with himself, she had the looks he favored in a woman.

He almost allowed himself a moment to enjoy her when the unfortunate chastity conversation came back to mind. Shifting his weight uncomfortably he peeled his eyes from her body but was once again drawn to her lips. She was definitely saying something as she fought.

Cullen leaned forward, straining his ears. She was mumbling to herself. Suddenly, he realized he knew the words. _But why would she be...?_ He turned to Cassandra. "Is she reciting...?" He started.

"The Chant of Light, yes." The Seeker finished his observation.

"Why?" He said.

Cassandra gave him an impatient look. "Ask her." She said sternly before she walked away.

He watched her go, annoyed at the challenge. _Fine. He would._

xxxx

The Commander hadn't interrupted their sparring with any angry corrections or even any small suggestions, so she assumed she had done at least passably well. It wasn't lost on her that all three of them were present. Of course they would need to continue to learn as much about her as they could. They had no reason to trust her fully yet.

_They have good reason to never trust you._

She jumped aside just before Leliana swung at her midsection, avoiding the blow. Evelyn shook the truth from her head and focused back on the Chant.

_"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond..."_

The Commander called a stop to their session. Leliana nodded at her, not even seeming out of breath, smiled and walked away. Cassandra had already left Cullen's side. Evelyn huffed the cold air in and out, her chest heaving with the effort. She closed her mouth and tried to appear not quite so winded as the Commander approached her, a quizzical look on his face.

"Is there a point of improvement I should work on, Commander?" She asked him, attempting to not sound breathless.

"Were you reciting the Chant as you sparred?"

Evelyn was a little taken aback and quite a bit embarrassed. She hadn't thought he would be watching closely enough to notice. She should have assumed, however, that nothing would slip past his keen and critical eye. "Yes." She admitted. She hesitated to continue but she supposed there was nothing too revealing about the practice if she worded it just so. "It helps me to focus and better control my emotions. Chaos in the mind breeds chaos on the battlefield."

_And demons are drawn to chaos..._

The Commander stared at her for a moment and she worried she'd said the wrong thing. _Nothing good ever comes from talking too much about yourself_. But he did ask, and she wanted to be truthful. Or at least as truthful as she could be. At least with him. He was the only one in this new life of hers that felt comfortable.

xxxx

Cullen just looked down at her, pondering her reply to his question. He felt his brows draw together and his mouth purse into a pensive frown. He hadn't expected such an insightful answer. It made him uncomfortable that she could so easily sway his opinion of her from guarded to intrigued. Especially when he still felt her song inside him.

_More melodic now though,_ he thought, _less dissonant_.

They just stood staring at each other stupidly until he heard someone calling to him. He turned to see one of Leliana's people running towards them.

"Commander," The man said with urgency. "A group is approaching Haven fast. On horseback, armed and armored."

Cullen gripped his sword as his heartbeat quickened. He was already on the move, ready to mobilize his officers at least. The scout followed close behind. Behind him, he noticed the Herald followed, eyes wide, ears open.

"Under what banner?" Cullen demanded.

The man replied with a glance back at the Herald. "Trevelyan."


	3. Ruin and Rebuilding

_**Chapter 3: Ruin and Rebuilding**_

Cullen stood next to the Herald at Haven's gates. Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine had joined them, awaiting the arrival of the Trevelyan 'retinue'. Considering the report on their compliment, he would have called it a small force instead, but the Herald seemed to think that her family wasn't approaching with hostility in mind. If she had asked him, he would have told her that no one travels with a dozen mounted Templars and doesn't expect conflict. But she hadn't asked him. She had calmly assured their Spymaster that she had had no contact with her family since before the Conclave, and then she suggested to their Ambassador that this would be a good opportunity to enlist aid for their cause.

So they simply waited at the gates to greet Bann Trevelyan and his twelve Templars, likely borrowed from the Ostwick Chantry. The Trevelyans, apparently, had been slavishly tied to the Chantry for generations, providing both political and monetary support as well as bolstering the ranks of clerics and Templars alike. To Cullen, that sounded suspiciously close to zealotry. The last thing the newly formed Inquisition needed was exposure to Chantry zealots. But, again, no one had asked him.

He noted Cassandra shift her stance when the group approached and started dismounting. It was a subtle movement and he doubted anyone else would have made anything of it, but for a Seeker that movement spoke volumes. He was sure she was nervous. He could see it in the stiff line of her jaw and the way she rested her hand on her sword. He might feel the same way if he had been the one to chain up the scion of an influential family and accuse her of terrorism and murder. They were lucky the girl had agreed to join them willingly, else this meeting could have gone quite differently, with her family attempting to take her back home at the point of a Templar sword.

As it was, Cullen wasn't sure it still wouldn't come to that. The Bann approached their small group alone, his Chantry dogs keeping a respectful distance. He was a tall and severe looking man, all hard angles and serious eyes. He had the unfortunate distinction of reminding Cullen of Knight-Commander Meredith.

Cullen was vaguely aware of Josephine making some kind of formal little speech and Lady Trevelyan leading her father into the village proper. He kept his eyes on the Templars. He wasn't inherently mistrustful of his former brothers, simply wary. He respected those who continued to serve in these tumultuous and uncertain times, but he was glad he was not still one of them.

When the Bann was gone, one of the group from Ostwick came forward, introducing himself as their Knight-Captain. He asked if he and his men could await the Bann in the Chantry so he and Cassandra obliged them, leading them inside the village as well. Both he and the Seeker kept their hands on their swords the whole way.

xxxx

"Explain yourself."

Evelyn had barely shut the doors to the make-shift war room inside the Chantry before her father made the demand.

"Where would you like me to begin, Father?" She asked, suddenly feeling exhausted.

"Your brother is dead."

"Everyone is dead, Father."

Stating the obvious was clearly too flippant a response. He grabbed her arm and pulled her further into the room. "What in the Void happened? How were you separated from him and the others? Did you have anything to do with the explosion? Answer me!"

Ignoring the fact that he hadn't yet given her an opportunity to answer him properly, she gently pulled her arm away and took a step backwards. She wanted to be surprised that he would accuse her of wrong-doing as well, but she wasn't. She supposed he had more cause to believe she could cause such damage than did Cassandra.

"Seeker Pentaghast already questioned me. I don't remember anything. The first thing I remember is waking up to an interrogation. Which I passed. These people know I had nothing to do with murdering the Divine."

"If you remember nothing, how can you be so certain you bear no responsibility?" He shouted, and then he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, "Did you use magic? Do these people know?"

The question was inevitable. She closed her eyes and gave her weary reply. "Of course not, Father. Neither did I use magic, nor do they know." She selfishly hid the fact that Solas was aware of her affliction. Her father didn't need to know that. If he knew, he might try to eliminate the risk of her secret being shared and she refused to have the blood of an innocent elf on her hands.

He grabbed her faintly glowing hand and held it up between them. "How do you explain this, then?" He didn't wait for her to answer, he just dropped her hand and folded his arms. "These _people_..." He echoed her. "This _Inquisition_ has been deemed heretical. _You_ have been deemed heretical. The family can have no part of it. Nor is it appropriate for you to remain here unsupervised. I'm taking you back to Ostwick. The Chantry must choose a new Divine. There is much that needs to be done. Your brother..." He closed his eyes in a moment of grief. "My son..." And then the moment passed as quickly as it came. "May Andraste let his soul to rest, he served this family and the Maker faithfully. But now that leaves _you_..._ungoverned_."

He seemed to choose the word carefully. "_Ungoverned_, Father?" She questioned.

He paced the room, talking more to himself than to her. "Maker knows who we will be able to confide in, but a suitable replacement must be found to keep you in check. Especially now, with that..._thing_ marking you."

A sick feeling of disbelief started to rise inside Evelyn's gut. "_Keep me in check_?" She repeated.

Her father stopped pacing and he looked down at her with fire in his eyes. She could see all semblance of patience had left him. "What did you imagine would happen here? That I could let you remain? That you could contribute to the chaos? Unsupervised and unmonitored? A potential threat to this family and to the world itself...as _all mages are_?"

Evelyn's mouth hung open and she started to sweat, heat and shame overtaking her as her father continued his rant.

"The world is falling to ruin! _We_ will not fall with it. I cannot let_ you_ fall with it."

She felt wetness at the corners of her eyes, but fought it back. "Why would I fall? How could you think that of me? I've done everything necessary to deny my magic. I've worked hard every moment. I've been nothing but disciplined and done nothing but served..." She pleaded. But even as she did so, the slow creep of realization came, inevitably confirmed by her father's next words.

He laughed and it was a bitter thing. "Did you think I could leave such a thing to chance? Depending only on your discipline to keep us all safe? To keep yourself safe? Your brother kept your magic _silent. _As much as he could, as often as he could, as often as he felt necessary. And that is what must continue to happen. We will enlist another Templar, one of us. We leave here as soon as possible."

He waved her off dismissively and moved towards the door, meaning to leave and not expecting to be questioned.

Evelyn had nothing but questions. Frantic questions. Angry questions.

She had never truly been trusted, had she? Had her brother, who she loved and worshiped as her savior for keeping her secret, keeping her safe, teaching her strength, faith and discipline, had he _silenced_ her all this time? Were all his efforts simply a means to _'keep her in check'_? Keep the shameful and dangerous mage in check. Was that all that was wanted of her, all that was required of her? To be silently governed until death took her or a demon possessed her? Why hadn't they just put her in the Circle then?

But they couldn't have, could they? Better she suffer her shame silently than drag her family down with her. Better to keep her hidden than to have a Trevelyan listed in the ranks of the potential abominations. No matter her struggle, no matter that she had denied herself everything, that she would have continued to deny herself everything, any semblance of a life...

She looked down at her hand. It burned and she made a fist against the pain.

She was stronger than that. She had made herself stronger than that. And she was still a Trevelyan.

_Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed._

She calmly took a deep breath and stepped between her father and the door. He reached up to push her aside, but she stayed his hand.

"What is the meaning of this...?" He started indignantly, but she cut him off.

"I'm not leaving, Father. The world is falling to ruin. But I will not fall with it. Nor will I follow you. Not any longer." There was steel in her voice and the fire was in her eyes now, not his. His had grown cold. "The world is falling to ruin. I'm going to help rebuild it."

_And I will rebuild myself along with it_, she swore silently before turning on her heel and walking out the door.


	4. Heat and Light

**_Chapter 4: Heat and Flame_**

Cullen's attention snapped to the war room when the door flung open and the Herald emerged. He and Cassandra had been engaged in a staring contest of sorts with the Ostwick Templars, everyone silently fondling their weapons and watching each other warily. When Lady Trevelyan entered the hall, however, all eyes turned to her.

Cullen thought she looked different. Her intelligent eyes usually had a more impassive discipline behind them, but now she was flushed and angry. Not without curiosity did he note that it seemed a dangerously calm anger when she spoke.

"Commander Cullen, Seeker Cassandra," she said as she approached, "May I speak with you both?" Cullen thought it didn't quite sound like she was asking permission so much as ordering them but, he was intrigued enough to ignore her lack of rank over him. He nodded his head and gestured her towards a side chamber that Josephine was currently using as her office.

The Ambassador was seated at her desk when they entered and Sister Leliana was leaning beside her studying a report Josephine held. Lady Trevelyan started speaking before he had even finished shutting the door behind them.

"Are you in need of anymore Templars to bolster your ranks, Commander?" She asked him with a strangely defiant sort of air. He wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with this sudden assertiveness the Herald was wielding.

Cullen folded his arms across his chest and eyed her suspiciously. He_ had_ just been wondering if he could use her family's influence to recruit more soldiers to their cause, but if she was offering this in a maneuver to try to bring them back under Chantry control in deference to her father, Cullen wasn't willing to pay the price. "I suppose I wouldn't turn them down." He said slowly, then added, "It would depend on the circumstances."

He swore he saw a ghost of a smile cross her face before she turned to Josephine. "Lady Ambassador, I'm sorry to inform you that the Inquisition can expect no assistance from the Trevelyan family."

"That is...regrettable." Josephine replied looking disappointed that an importance alliance had dissolved into nothing in less time that it took to kiss a nobleman's ass.

"It is to be expected." Leliana said. "The Bann is devout to say the least, is he not Herald? I cannot imagine he can discount the Chantry's current opinion of us, family ties or no."

"Thank you for understanding, Sister Leliana." Lady Trevelyan responded. "My father abides by Chantry doctrine. My existence no longer _conforms_ to that doctrine enough to suit him." Her explanation was stiff with a forced sort of indifference. It was only the subtle change in that maddening aura Cullen felt around her that belied any emotion underneath the statement.

He wondered what words had been exchanged between father and daughter to cause this change in her. Demure acceptance did not suddenly transform into smoldering drive for no reason. And the way she had said '_conforms_' bothered him. How exactly had her father expected her to conform?

"Why would he give us Templars if he considers us heretics?" He asked, trying to get to the point of the matter.

"_He_ isn't giving you anything, Commander. _I_ am. I know each of those Templars out there. They are all reasonable men and most of them can be persuaded to stay and join us instead of riding back with my father. Given the proper..._motivation,_ of course."

"_Motivation_?" Cassandra echoed, now joining in the conversation.

Cullen resisted rolling his eyes and walking out. He should have guessed. There was always some convoluted political bullshit where these nobles were concerned. Just another reason he felt justified in leaving the Order. The fact that the Templars were susceptible to such control made him sick. But he didn't roll his eyes and he didn't walk out. He found, disturbingly, that he couldn't even look away from the Herald's determined countenance.

"There is one Knight-Captain, one Knight-Lieutenant and a Knight-Corporal out there." She said. "The Knight-Corporal's sister was a Circle mage. She joined the rebels and he has been unable to ascertain her whereabouts or well-being. This is not common knowledge, so his resources in gathering such information are limited." She spoke directly to Leliana now. "Offer to find her and he will join."

A smile that Cullen could only interpret as growing respect spread across the Spymaster's face. "Consider it done Herald."

Lady Trevelyan smiled back in thanks and continued. "The Knight-Lieutenant is the only remaining son of a noble house that has fallen into debt. Offer him coin enough in salary upon joining us to help pay down the debts and perhaps the promise of a good word or two about his family in the right circles, and you'll have him as well."

Josephine, apparently having set aside her disappointment from moments ago, nodded her agreement. "I believe I can see that done if you feel it will help us."

Finally she turned to Cullen. "The Knight-Captain is a good and honorable man, Commander. He will respect your position. If you speak with him and convince him of our desire to save lives and actually make a difference in this war, I have no doubt he will join as well. And with the officers, I'm sure at least some of the others will follow."

Cullen wasn't going to be persuaded as easily as Leliana and Josephine. He wasn't sure why but he suddenly felt a stubborn need to make her work for his assistance. "I am no longer a member of the Order. I have no position above him. Why would he respect what I have to say?"

"It is precisely because you left the Order, Commander. The man had a wife who was accidentally killed in the crossfire when a group of rebel mages and rogue Templars got into a clash on her lands. He was stationed elsewhere at the time. It took weeks before he found out. He remained with the Chantry simply because there was nowhere else for him to turn. You will be able to convince him he can turn to us."

Cullen was silent while he considered the situation. Contrary to his earlier assumption, she wasn't setting about trying to blackmail these men, or entangle them in politics. If anything, the solutions she offered were meant to help them. Her plan seemed sound and he could see no reason not to make the attempt. "Fine. I'll speak with him."

She smiled and looked directly into his eyes when she said, "Thank you, Commander." He held her gaze for a moment, surprised at what he saw there. Was it relief? Gratitude? He couldn't say, but he started_ feeling_ her more acutely and without thinking about it first he took a step back towards the door, away from her.

His movement caused her to hastily look away. She stuttered, "Thank you...all of you. I...I want to keep contributing more." She pulled her hand forward from where she had been holding it behind her back. She looked down at the mark, barely giving off its green light. "More than this at least." She turned to Cassandra. "The Chantry Mother, the one in the Hinterlands you spoke of. I'll go with you to meet her. I want to dedicate myself to the Inquisition. Fully."

And with that, she left them, leaving behind the feeling Cullen quickly found he couldn't simply step away from.

xxxx

Evelyn left the Chantry, not stopping when her father, who was now speaking with his Templars, attempted to call out to her. If he thought she would change her mind out of fear or uncertainty, he was mistaken. She had done her best to learn what her family had expected of her. That was in the past. It was now time for her to learn what she should expect from herself.

She couldn't deny it felt good giving the Commander the opportunity to recruit the Templars that had accompanied her father. They deserved a better way to serve the Maker and she was pleased that the Inquisition could offer them that. She would not allow herself any guilt over the spiteful pleasure she felt having taken away her Father's control over them. The man had seen fit to take away her control her whole life. It was only fair she start to chip away at his.

She strode resolutely across the small village, the cold mountain air both soothing and invigorating her. She would not allow herself any guilt about the actions she was about to take either. The road that stood before her was not one she would have chosen for herself but, in difficult times, it was the last resort of good men to use any and all means necessary to achieve a better world.

She lifted her hand and knocked on the elf's door, swallowing down any remaining doubts. When Solas appeared before her she had only one request of him.

"Teach me."

xxxx

Cullen's nightly patrol had turned contemplative against his better judgement. He preferred to empty his head during this time, focusing on the cold air and the blanket of darkness that usually soothed his disquiet. When he was successful, he managed to sleep a little afterwards. There was no chance of success tonight.

He walked around and about Haven, circling the small cottages, the Chantry, the tavern and now he was on his way through the gates to circle around the lake. He nodded at the guards who saluted him as he passed.

The Herald's information proved accurate and then some. They had managed to recruit the three officers and seven of the other Templars. Only two departed with the Bann back to Ostwick. He rode out with his remaining men at sunset, not even having properly rested their horses, and not saying another word to anyone.

After he had seen to getting his new men settled, he regrouped with Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine. The women were in a more positive mood than he had yet seen them since this all began. At least he assumed the slightly less severe frown the Seeker was wearing indicated positivity. Plans were made for Lady Cassandra to take the Herald and a small group to make their first steps in expanding the Inquisition's reach.

They still ultimately needed Lady Trevelyan to attempt to close the Breach, but they resolved to try and find a way to make success, and her survival, more likely. Something inside the hardness that had become Cullen's heart was grateful they wouldn't simply be placing the girl before it and allowing her to be consumed. He passed off the tiny excuse for a tender emotion as respect for her help and devotion to their cause thus far.

Cullen stopped to lean against a tree, his boots buried up to the ankle in snow. He loved the cold. This was the first time he'd been back to Ferelden in nearly ten years. He hadn't realized how much he missed it. The lyrium made a Templar's blood run hot and Kirkwall's warmer seasons were nearly unbearable. He wouldn't have believed it possible, but the heat inside him only seemed to grow without lyrium. It was as if his body no longer had a set point; like the lyrium had broken and replaced some vital function and now without it his flesh knew only reckless flame.

_Too much thinking. Thinking about it only makes it worse._

He bent his head and rubbed his eyes wearily. He needed to refocus and clear his mind. He started to chant. His lips moved around the words in the darkness, but his voice was silent.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure..._

The words came to him easily enough, but the meaning was lost when his thoughts turned to the Herald and how he had caught her chanting as she fought, trying to achieve his same goal. Focus. Quiet. Peace.

But these thoughts of her left him anything but focused and at peace and even without her presence the quiet was disturbed by his memory of the song her aura sang to him. Whatever magic was burned into her hand was affecting him more than he was willing to admit. He wondered if the lyrium cravings were making things worse.

_I shall weather the storm. I shall endure..._

He could endure until she departed for the Hinterlands. Then he might be able to find some rest.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head. He was about to abandon his walk when a flicker of light caught his eye down by the banks of the lake. It was gone so quickly he almost thought he hadn't seen it at all. He squinted in the dim light of the moons and noticed someone sitting on the jetty.

_Void take her_, it was the Herald.

xxxx

Evelyn sat freezing next to the ice covered water. Her bottom was starting to go numb where it contacted the frozen wood of the jetty. As night fell, her single-minded determination of the daylight hours had stared to fade, replaced by nameless apprehensions.

She had hoped Solas would engage her in lessons to learn more about her magic immediately, but after she told him she wanted her endeavors to remain secret for the foreseeable future until she could determine what that future held, he dismissed her and told her he would find her to start her training this evening.

But the evening had come and gone, descending into the deep of nighttime and Solas had not sought her out. She had looked for him, but was unsuccessful. She eventually retreated to this spot by the lake after wandering through the soldiers camps and up into the woods for hours.

Too much time with only her own thoughts had allowed misgivings to start to creep in. For the first time in her life, she was alone. Alone with her secrets, alone with her magic. Alone on the path that stretched out before her in shadow.

She started to doubt. What if she wasn't as strong as she thought? What if she was unable to control her magic on her own? What if faith, discipline and devotion weren't enough to see her through this? She doubted she was the first mage with plans to keep their power under tight control, and yet she was certain too many of those mages had fallen to weakness.

She was suddenly terrified to go to sleep. Though she knew nothing had tangibly changed since yesterday, or the day before, but she _felt_ different. What if that was enough to draw a demon into her dreams?

She felt lost.

And cold. She shivered against a gust of wind.

If Solas had decided she was unworthy of his time, then she was even more alone in this than she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on a chant.

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure..._

If she had to endure alone, then that was what she had to do.

_No time like the present_, she thought. She held her hand open, but tucked in her lap, hiding it from plain view. She closed her eyes and drew on the long neglected spark inside of her. It was lonely and it ached and she had to pull, but when she opened her eyes again, it was to the light of a small flame nestled in her hand.


	5. Awkwardness and Cunning

_**Chapter 5: Awkwardness and Cunning**_

Thinking about her had already disturbed his 'quiet time' and yet, for reasons unknown to him, Cullen felt the need to walk down towards the lake where the Herald sat. Apparently he sought to be disturbed by her actual presence as well.

He used the excuse that he should thank her for her actions in acquiring experienced soldiers for his army. He most certainly did not admit to curiosity. Considering the way she made him feel, he would equate curiosity about her to curiosity about a hornet's nest. He pushed aside the annoying memory of knocking down more than one actual hornet's nest when he was a boy just to see what would happen.

She turned and looked up at him when she heard him coming. Even in the dim moonlight he noticed a change in her. Since they first met, despite the precarious state of the world around them, she had had the look of the devout. Cullen knew well what it looked like. A very long time ago, he remembered seeing it in the mirror. People of unwavering faith, even in the face of uncertainty, look like they have purpose. She had looked like that. Now, however, she simply looked lost. If her faith of only a day ago had mirrored his in his youth, the stricken girl before him mirrored the man he had become.

_But you're trying to change that._

He found his opinion of her shifting yet again as an emotion rose up inside him and, even covered in dust from disuse, he recognized it as empathy. His excuse for coming down here seemed inadequate now.

"I...I wanted to thank you, Herald...for helping to add to our ranks." His stuttered voice sounded too loud somehow against the sound of the wind.

She looked back across the frozen expanse of the lake as she replied. "There's no need to thank me, Commander. I've committed myself to this cause. From this point onward, I will do anything in my power to help."

Despite the troubled expression she wore, she sounded surprisingly resolute.

"I believe you've impressed both our Spymaster and our Ambassador with your little display of ruthless political cunning. Against your own family, no less." _What in the Void was he saying?_ Even for him that was blunt and inconsiderate. Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the back of his neck. His head was never quite right around her and it reflected in his increasing inability to speak sensibly.

She let out a short laugh. "I suppose those two would appreciate my actions. I should be asking the Maker's forgiveness for what I did but, I see now that there was no other way my father's visit could have turned out. And I would hope the Maker knows I still wish to serve, if not in the way originally intended for me."

Again he found himself feeling an odd sort of commiseration with her. Neither of them spoke for a long while. There seemed to be no reason for him to still be standing there and yet he might as well have been frozen where he stood.

Eventually she spoke again, soft and small. "Have you ever questioned your faith, Commander?"

"Every day."_ Why would he tell her that? _The answer came to his lips before her question had even completely registered in his mind.

Rather than look at him strangely at his too forthright admission, she looked up at him with hope awash in her eyes. "How do you move forward?"

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. _I bury uncertainty under duty where it belongs, _he thought to himself, but he didn't say that to her. "Slowly...I suppose." That was truth at least. _Why was he having this conversation? Were they speaking about her or him?_ He didn't want to speak about either one of them.

She let out a breath that hung in swirls in the cold air. "And yet the world continues to turn without slowing down for us poor lost souls, does it not?"

Lost. Her words felt heavy. He didn't want to be lost anymore. "It does, My Lady."

She looked in his eyes and he immediately looked away. Her voice was lighter when she spoke again. "After today, Commander, I'm fairly certain I've been disowned by my very noble family and therefore I can no longer claim that title. So, we're back to me asking you to call me Evelyn."

He was suddenly too warm standing there. He needed to move; feel the wind and the snow. "Good night, Herald." He said abruptly.

"Good night, Commander." He heard her say, but he had already turned on his heel and left.

xxxx

Evelyn waited until the Commander was far enough along down the path before she got up herself and started walking back towards the village. She didn't want him to think she was following him. She realized she liked talking to him. He didn't seemed to share the sentiment. For a moment when he first approached her she worried he had seen the small fire she conjured in her hand. Luckily that didn't seem to be the case.

Their conversation had been short and filled with the awkwardness of two people not accustomed to speaking without a script. Was she a captive to their cause? A subordinate in his army? A peer on the battlefield? Or some strangely divine prophetess? She had no more idea how to act than he had an idea on how to treat her.

She was well and truly tired now, the frigid temperature slowly sapping her alertness. When she crawled into her bed, she said a prayer and she resolved to bury her uncertainty under duty in hopes that the clarity hard work provided would see her through. She also resolved to seek out Solas again in the morning, for she had a duty to fulfill in that arena as well.

She closed her eyes and sleep came blessedly quickly. But she was to have no rest. She opened her eyes and found herself in a part of the Fade she had never seen before. She was surrounded by ancient ruins. Overgrown with ivy and wild herbs, the smell of soil and old civilization was thick in the air of her dream. Everything was as vivid as if she was in the waking world, but it all felt _sharper_, more alive.

She could feel her magic inside her. Where usually it was a dull throb, a faint ache that she pushed down, it now seemed to ring clearly and it..._breathed_. The sensation was wild, but before she had the chance to grow fearful, which she most certainly would have, she saw a figure walk out from behind a crumbling wall.

Solas came up to her, looking as he did normally and carrying his staff, but he felt different. Typically steady and unassuming, here in the Fade the elf felt large, his magic massive and arcane, like the ruins surrounding them.

"I was beginning to think you had changed your mind." He said to her casually.

She just stared at him, wondering if it was safe to speak or if it was somehow inherently dangerous to be sharing a dream with another.

He responded as if she had said her thoughts aloud. "I admit, it is not ideal to begin teaching you about your magic solely in the Fade, but you offered me no alternative when you expressed your desire to maintain secrecy."

"I...I didn't realize..." She wasn't sure if she wanted this now. Were they not too exposed here? Would their magic not draw demons? "...is it even possible...?"

"Your magic will be stronger here, yes. Harder to control. And perhaps you will be more susceptible to temptation." He walked around her in a circle, stalking, his voice gone low, "But you wish to learn control above all things, do you not? What better place to test your resolve, da'mi."

She spoke no elven. On rare occasions she had stumbled upon dusty old texts in libraries or book stalls with passages she could only infer the meanings to as she had no sources for translation. She had always wondered at the beautiful script, sounding it out, strange in her ears.

"What did you just call me?" She asked, her curiosity overcoming her fears for the moment. She loved nothing better than to learn. Knowledge was power over ignorance of the mind and weakness of the spirit. And if he was willing to give her knowledge, she would take it eagerly no matter the setting.

"I called you 'little blade'. Your people, they intend to use you as a weapon against the Rifts in the sky do they not? It seems fitting to call you what you are, what I will train you to be. A weapon."

"I have no desire to fight with magic." She said sternly. "I wish only to master myself so that I may serve. Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him." She quoted the Chant.

"When you trained your body to use weapons of steel, did you do it with the purpose of killing?" He asked innocently.

"Of course not." She replied. "Physical training hones the mind as well as the body. It instills focus and for practical purposes it allows for self defense."

"Then think of this as the same. I will come to you when you sleep, as often as you are able, and you will hone your mind and body using magic instead of muscle. The knowledge and skill I pass to you will impart focus and allow you to defend yourself better against any temptations that might arise. In the future, should you choose to...or need to...use what I teach you as a weapon, then you will be prepared for that as well, just as you are with daggers in your hands. Do you find this acceptable da'mi?"

His reasoning made sense. At least it made sense here in their dream. She hoped it also made sense when she wasn't standing in the Fade. And, she reminded herself, there were no other options. She nodded her head in assent and said a silent prayer.

Solas smiled. "Let us begin."

xxxx

Cullen stood on a small ridge and watched her. The sun had just risen above the mountains, but she had been out here with his recruits for quite some time already. They were running laps down the paths leading to Haven. Knight-Captain Rylen had told him that she actually started before the other troops, the rest of them falling in line behind her as they went about completing their appointed drills. Since the morning after her father came and left, while they were making preparations to depart for the Hinterlands, this was her practice. She would train. She would read. And she would pray.

Leliana supplied her with report after report so she would have knowledge of the areas and the people she would be exposed to. When she wasn't reading those, he would find her huddled over books she scavenged from various places. Books on herbs and potions, weapons and metalworking, horses and hunting. Anything, he supposed, she thought might help her in the field. And when she wasn't sweating on the training grounds or buried in pages and ink, she prayed at the small alters in the appropriated Chantry.

The Chant fell from her lips effortlessly, both passages he himself knew to heart and some he had never even heard. He wondered if she actually knew the whole damn thing that took weeks to recite. In fact, he could tell she was chanting even now as she ran. Her lips formed the familiar words, her eyes doggedly fixed forward as she moved through the snow.

Training, reading, praying..._she would have made a good Templar, _he thought dryly.

He turned when Cassandra appeared next to him. "She is..._single-minded._" The Seeker commented. "She would have made an excellent Templar."

Cullen couldn't help a snort of laughter. "I was just thinking that. She's obviously capable of more than just writing out copies of the Chant. Why _didn't_ her family give her to the Order?" He asked, and then when he saw the narrow eyed glare Cassandra gave him he rolled his eyes and retracted the question. "Yes, yes, I know. 'Ask her.'"

They watched the Herald for another moment together then he inquired about the business at hand. "Are you ready to depart?"

"Yes. We will send report to you and Leliana as soon as we arrive."

"Just make contact and get the lay of the land. I'll come with troops to properly secure the area once we know what we're dealing with."

"And once we know if our help is welcome at all." Cassandra said pessimistically.

"We promise peace and order, Seeker. The rebel mages and the rogue Templars may not want that, but the world is made up of more than just those selfish bastards." Cullen made no attempt to hide his disgust. He had no respect for those who felt the need to drag innocents into conflict. He'd seen enough of that in Kirkwall. "There are innocent people out there trying to make a living and raise their families. I intend to see they're given the opportunity to do that, politics be damned."

"If there are active Rifts in the area, we may not be able to wait for your reinforcements."

"Try. We have no idea if she's actually prepared for this."

The Seeker gave him the look again.

"I suppose I'll ask her that as well, won't I." He grumbled.

She folded her arms using the imperious air he assumed was a remnant of her marginally royal upbringing. "You're the only one who has seemed to be able to get her to speak about herself, Commander. Her evasiveness disturbs Leliana, and her relentless questions disturb me. She seems more comfortable around you. Take advantage of it."

Cullen sighed as he walked away. How was it possible that he was surrounded by women and yet it fell to him to discuss personal matters with the Herald? And of all people for her to 'seem comfortable' with he could hardly believe it was him. He had nothing of comfort to offer anyone.

_But you're going to try._

He found her just outside the gates, now engaged in sparring practice. He walked up to her partner, dismissed the young man and took his place. He thought maybe it would be easier for him to talk with a sword in his hand as a distraction from the humming in his blood that she stirred.

She squared up opposite him. He noted she had taken to wearing a short leather glove on her marked hand. "You're not going to go easy on me, are you Commander?" She asked, and it almost sounded playful. She had a brightness in her eyes and her hair, slicked with sweat, clung to her face in ragged tendrils. Cullen couldn't help but think that physical exertion looked very becoming on her. At least more so than having her little aristocratic nose shoved in a moldy tome.

"I don't have it in me to go easy on anyone, My Lady. Not any more." Before he could scold himself yet again for making a too revealing and inappropriate comment, her eyes turned surprisingly feral and she shouted at him before she lunged.

"I asked you _not_ to call me that!" She was quick and he barely brought his shield up in time to deflect a swipe from one of her daggers.

Well, she seemed _comfortable_ enough to attack him, so he pressed his advantage. "Why were you not promised to the Templars?" He asked her as she jumped back to avoid a shove from his shield. "You seem like more..._trouble_ than the Revered Mothers are usually fit to deal with."

She came at him again. He parried and stepped away easily.

She caught her breath, standing still. "I'm more trouble then you know, Commander." She said darkly then she pulled a small flask from a pouch at her hip. She threw it down between them and black smoke billowed up from where it shattered against the ground. He took up a defensive stance trying to see through the black plumes.

He stiffened when he felt the dull tip of her practice weapon at the back of his neck. She leaned forward from behind him until he could feel her breath on his ear and hear her song vibrate in his head from the close contact. "I suppose my family felt it better I learn to avoid trouble instead of giving me a big sword with which to make more."

The smoke cleared and he turned around to look at her. And then he surprised himself. By smiling. He had no idea why. He just did it. And it felt...good. She looked at him with her head tilted, likely wondering at his odd response.

He was still wearing a small smirk when he spoke over his shoulder to her as he walked away. "I'll tell Lady Cassandra you're ready."

* * *

_A/N: Nothing annoyed me more than the fact that Cullen just sits at HQ all day. I'm sorry, but that just wouldn't happen, so for the purposes of this story, let's consider him a hands-on general, shall we? If King Alistair can traipse about Ferelden getting to know his people, Cullen can freaking step out every once in a while. Also, I'm going to start messing with timelines and missions from this point on as I progress the story. I did say AU-ish, didn't I? Thanks for reading! :D_


	6. Appearances and Perceptions

**_Chapter 6: Appearances and Perceptions_**

"Thank the fucking Maker!" Varric threw his arms up in the air as he approached Cullen's horse. "It's about time you got here!"

Cullen was in no mood to be lectured on punctuality. He had waited in Haven for days past when Cassandra should have sent word about what kind of forces were needed in the Hinterlands. The idleness did nothing but make him harder on the recruits, give him more time to notice his headaches and brood over his nightmares.

If he had thought he would get some respite by having the Herald and her mark out of close range, he was mistaken. He almost thought he was feeling the craving for lyrium more acutely since she left. The strange song he felt vibrating around her that resonated in his blood was gone and with its absence the lyrium song only seemed to grow louder, like a thirst calling out to be quenched. His skin still itched even without her there and it was making his sword itch to kill something.

He was noticeably irritable enough, that after eight days of stalking around morosely, Leliana and Josephine sent him packing with his men along with supplies for any eventuality just to get rid of him.

It turned out to be fortunate he departed without waiting for Cassandra's full report because an urgent letter from the Seeker found them camped at the midpoint of their journey. All she said was that the fighting between the rogue Templars and the apostates was more intense than previously expected and that he should come without delay to assist in securing the area before more lives were lost.

Cullen rode out immediately with a small, heavily armed strike force in the interest of speed, leaving the bulk of the soldiers he brought with him to follow behind with the relief supplies. Given Cassandra's information he expected to run into at least one skirmish on his way to the Crossroads, but they had no trouble and made good time.

Cullen dismounted. "I had no idea you were an Andrastian, Varric." He commented dryly.

"Curly, I would have started praying to Dumat if I thought it would have helped rescue us."

Cullen looked around at the makeshift command center the Inquisition forward scouts had set up on a ridge overlooking the Crossroads. "We had no trouble on our approach. I fail to see why you need rescued from refugees and farmers." He waved his hand down at the village below crowded with the living casualties of war.

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Your sense of humor has grown by leagues. We're lucky to still be alive, you know. You could have warned us about Kitten. She seemed so reasonable, who in the Void knew she'd be so..._tenacious_." Varric almost seemed to shiver at that last word.

"Are we talking about the Herald?" Cullen felt the muscles in his jaw clench. He knew there was something wrong with her. "What happened? Has she caused problems?"

Varric scoffed. "Only for the enemy. Of which there are a lot more out here than we were led to believe by the way. I intend to have a word with Nightingale about that."

Cullen was also in no mood for loquacious dwarves. "Speak plainly Varric, I left my patience back at Haven."

"You left your patience back at Kirkwall." He mumbled before he gave something that passed for an actual report. "Look, when we first showed up, the fighting had already spread into the Crossroads. We cleaned it up no problem, but instead of letting Seeker send out some scouts and get the lay of the land, Kitten started marching out herself, trying to clean up the whole damn area. You know her, the first thing she did was talk to absolutely everyone. I think she was even taking notes. And of course they all had their hand out wanting something. We weren't here an hour before she started running around trying to 'fix' everything all at once. First it was bandits, then more Templar-Mage shit, then possessed wolves. _Wolves_, Curly. Fucking possessed _wolves_. I shit you not. And don't get me started on the bears."

Varric took a breath, while Cullen just listened and waited for the diatribe to continue. His previously clenched jaw had gone slack.

"But it's not just the fighting. You'd think she'd be tired enough with all the fighting, but the crazy woman is running errands for people like it's her job! If you brought supplies with you for the refugee relief effort go right ahead and send them all back, because we've already outfitted the whole damn place. These people could wait out another blight if they needed to, never mind the winter."

"Where did she manage to find provisions?" Cullen asked. Possibly not the most important question, but he was still processing the fact that the unassuming Chantry girl he had sent out into the field had taken it upon herself to secure a battle ground without men or resources. He was torn between respect for her diligence, awe at her stupidity and anger at her blatant disregard for his orders to lay low until he arrived.

"She scavenges like a vulture, that one. Maybe that's what I should have named her instead of 'Kitten'. She would have given Hawke a run for her money back in the day. Plus we got a tip on the location of a few supply caches some of the mages stashed in the wilderness. Guarded mostly by bears." Varric commented bitterly.

Cullen sighed and rubbed his throbbing head. "Where is she now? Is Lady Cassandra with her?"

Varric didn't need to answer. A scout came up to them then, one of Leliana's people. "The Herald was here Commander, but she set out shortly before you arrived. We passed on some information about a Templar encampment off the West Road. The letters we intercepted pointed to that being a recruitment site for any of the Order who wanted to join in the hunt for apostates. She left with Seeker Pentaghast and that elf Solas as soon as she read our report."

Cullen could feel his blood start to boil over. _Of all the fucking irresponsible..._

"You let three people go out to take on an entire camp of Templars?" Cullen shouted down at the scout. He knew it wasn't the poor man's fault, but he needed somewhere to direct his ire.

"Don't take it out on the messenger, Curly. Even Seeker hasn't been able to get her to stand down. That's why we've been going with her. At least we can watch her back."

Cullen barked out orders to his men to follow and then climbed right back up on his horse. "I'm going after them. Are you coming?" He asked Varric.

"Wouldn't miss it."

Cullen thought the dwarf sounded less than enthusiastic.

They rode hard and caught up with the Herald's small group just as they engaged the sentries at the encampment. Cassandra looked harried and tired, but the relief that came over her when she saw Cullen and his men approach was palpable. Solas kept at a distance and Cullen was able to feel the barrier magic he erected around the Herald and the Seeker. Varric immediately shot down two enemy archers perched on higher ground before they had a chance to even nock an arrow.

Cullen took to the vanguard and attempted to cut his way through to the Herald. If she had planned on fighting outnumbered, the least she could have done was launch a more subtle assault, but as it was, she had walked right up the road to their forward guards and now the entire camp was mobilized against them.

That being said she was brutally efficient. She knew exactly how the Templars would attack and she countered accordingly. She knew how to exploit the vulnerabilities in their armor and she used that knowledge to deadly effect. She was lightning quick and agile. He noted she wore no armor herself at all, only close fitting leathers allowing her more fluid movement.

He was able to keep his eye on her, even as the enemy came at him. He was almost disappointed at his former brethren for being so easy to take down, but he doubted any of those gathered here were of high enough rank to offer him a challenge. That, and he assumed the men he was fighting had lost some of their edge by this point. They had totally taken leave of their senses, wandering the wilderness like rabid mabari hunting out any faint sliver of magic they could forcibly subdue.

He quickly stepped out of the path of a knight charging him with a tower shield. Cullen was able to maneuver around and take him down with a pommel strike to the back of the neck. Unfortunately, when he turned and brought his eyes back around to the Herald, she herself had been knocked down by another charging Templar. Cullen heard her grunt heavily as she landed flat on her back, her daggers skittering out of her reach in the dust.

Solas manage to get another barrier up and the shockwave of blue light expanded underneath her where she lay on the ground. Varric shot two bolts into the knight that loomed over her, swinging his sword, but it didn't seem to faze him. Cullen rushed forward and knocked the man down with his shield, then brought the base of it crashing into his exposed neck.

When Cullen looked up again, the fighting was over. He was surprised to see many of the Templars still alive, but with injuries that incapacitated them, leaving them with no choice but to surrender.

Varric must have noticed him studying the injured, but certainly not dead, enemies. "Yeah, forgot to mention, we've been 'taking prisoners', instead of killing everyone." More annoyed commentary from the dwarf.

At that the Herald stirred and rolled herself into a sitting position on the ground. "How many times do I have to say it? They're not 'prisoners'. I fully intend to make sure they're given the opportunity to join us if they can be made to see reason." She winced and brought her gloved hand up to her opposite shoulder appearing to brace it against the pain of movement.

"She's recruiting, apparently." Varric grumbled as he took out a cloth and started wiping blood stains off of his crossbow.

Solas then approached and knelt beside her. "This is the third time I've had to heal this shoulder." He complained as light pulsed from his hand into her injured joint. The elf looked up at Cullen, "Perhaps the Commander can instruct you on the use of a shield for the future, Lady Trevelyan. Or perhaps you could find another way to fight..." The statement drifted off when the Herald coughed loudly. When Solas finished, he stepped away to tend to Cassandra who appeared to be favoring her left leg.

Cullen ordered his men to secure the 'prisoners'. He sheathed his sword and then reached his hand down to help up the Herald. At first she extended her marked hand, but then pulled it back and offered the other. Cullen lifted her to her feet.

He stared at her for a moment, considering her appearance, before he said, "You've...cut your hair."

_Oh, for the love of Andraste, how was that relevant? _Why would he even notice such a ridiculous thing let alone comment on it in the aftermath of a fight?

"I...um...yes, it seemed..._safer_." She responded haltingly as she fondled the jaggedly cut tips of it. It looked much darker now that it was cropped, nearly black and framing her face making her features more striking without its length. Also striking was the large streak of blood across her nose and cheek, the bright red contrasting with her pale skin.

"You also have blood," he pointed, "just there."

She swiped her arm quickly across her face, serving only to make it worse. He thought she might have blushed as she averted her eyes from his and looked down at her boots.

With the excitement of battle now passed, he became aware of her song again. It rushed in on him all at once after not having felt it for some time. His head spun and he tried to blink away the lightheadedness. He felt it pulse with the pulse of her blood inside the hand he was still holding. He felt it pulse with his own blood.

Cullen dropped her hand. The feeling lingered. "My Lady, exactly what part of my orders to await reinforcements did you not understand?" He said testily.

"People needed help. I would not turn my back on suffering and dying. I was capable of helping, so I did." Her words were defiant, but he would swear she looked contrite.

Cassandra walked up to them, her leg apparently healed. "Thank you, Commander, for your assistance. We have much to discuss, but we should not linger here. We've had reports of a rift over the hill across the river. There may be demons. We should fall back to the Crossroads and better prepare."

The Herald started to protest. "I can attempt to close it now. If I act quickly I can avoid it spawning..." She turned almost as if she was going to head in that direction.

Cullen grabbed her arm and held her in place, now very aware of what had quickly become the familiar feeling of her. "Lady Cassandra is right. We're done here for now. We will regroup and discuss a plan of attack for the rift, among other things." He tried to use his most commanding voice. He let go of her and took the reins to his horse that one of his men had brought over to him.

The rogue Templars still living were secured and mounts were shared to accommodate everyone. He nodded his head and the rest of the group started to ride back towards the main road. Cullen pulled himself up onto his horse and extended his hand to the Herald. She would have to ride with him.

She looked at his hand and then she looked back down the road towards the river where the rift awaited her. For a moment, he was worried she was going to run off by herself in that direction.

"Lady Trevelyan," He said her name loudly. "Get on the horse please." He asked.

She looked up at him, then looked away again. "I can't do_ nothing_..." She said, almost to herself. Now he really was worried she would bolt and he'd have to restrain her.

"Evelyn!" He shouted her given name. "Get on the damn horse!" He ordered this time.

Almost as a reflex, she snapped to and took his hand. He hoisted her up and when she was settled behind him, they rode off.

xxxx

She wasn't happy. But she was.

She had wanted to close the rift beyond the rogue Templar camp. The maps she acquired showed several farms in that direction and she didn't know if their inhabitants had fled already. She didn't want to take the chance that they hadn't and might be attacked by any demons that escaped the Fade through the tear. She wasn't happy about leaving anyone in danger.

But she was tired. She hadn't stopped moving since they arrived in this area. There was so much to be done and it helped to keep busy. Less thinking. More doing. Every enemy she cut down, every comfort she could offer to someone in need helped her feel like she had a meaningful purpose. The fatigue of her body, the ache of her muscles helped her find focus. And now more than ever she needed to find her focus.

The active rifts nearby were affecting her...and her magic. Or at least Solas thought. They had continued to train every night while she slept. She was learning how to tap into her power and manifest it. She was learning to feel the elements and bend them to her will. He was teaching her to meditate and strengthen that will. All in the dubious confines of the Fade.

The closer they came to the rifts, however, the more chaotic her power felt. The energies she was learning to weave were growing wild and becoming harder to control while she was awake. She winced inside when Cullen had noticed her hair. One night she woke herself up after having accidently set her hair on fire in her sleep. She was lucky she hadn't been burned. She had to hack off the evidence of her failure with one of her daggers and her bedroll still smelled of her burnt tresses. So she worked harder, pushed more, refusing to let the magic control her. She would master it. She had to.

But she was _tired_. And now, Commander Cullen was here. He urged the horse on at a steady pace and she held onto his waist as they rode. The calm feeling he imparted on her, that had faded in his absence, now rushed back into her. She closed her eyes and resisted resting her head on his shoulder so she could hear the faint song in his blood better.

She was learning about her magic quickly. Of course, because she had to, but even so, she had always been a quick study. She realized when he first helped her up off the ground and she took his hand that her expanded knowledge imparted an expanded awareness of _him._ She didn't have enough experience to know if every Templar felt the way he did or if there was something unique about how his aura reacted with the mark.

There was a core of power deep within him that pulsed steady and strong. Being close to him seemed to be helping her drown out the chaos and focus on her control. It was so restful that when he ordered her to leave she had no desire to continue protesting. She realized she was happy to finally be able to let her guard down a small fraction and lean on his strength for a while.

For now, it was enough.

xxxx

The ride back to their camp seemed like an eternity. At one point Cullen thought the Herald might have fallen asleep behind him. He could feel her breathing on the back of his neck, soft and even and she hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd ordered her onto the horse.

It seemed like an eternity with her breath on his neck and her scent in his nostrils and her arms wrapped around him. Everything about her _thundered_ out to him with her body pressed so close and he felt like his whole being was _throbbing_. He couldn't even say how he was able to see the road in front of him or control the animal beneath him with all of the damned _noise_ she made inside his head.

When they arrived at their camp he slowed the horse to a stop. She jumped down immediately and, just like at Haven, though he expected to feel relief now that she wasn't physically all over him, he felt nothing but that horrible _thirst_ again.

He heard himself order everyone to get settled and plan to meet to discuss a full accounting of the situation at hand in an hour. He mumbled something to Cassandra about wanting a detailed report about everything she and the Herald had been up to while they had been left to their own devices. He was definitely aware of the dirty look Cassandra gave him at his tone that implied she was somehow complicit with ignoring his previous orders. Everything else was in a fog. Cullen wanted nothing more than to stumble into his tent, cool off and refocus.

Of course she was standing in his way. Just standing there. Looking for all the world as if she now _wanted_ orders to follow. "An hour, Herald." He said, annoyed, waving her away and then he added softly as he walked passed her, "I...need a moment, please." Then he took his leave of her in favor of solitude.

xxxx

He _felt_ her. Evelyn was sure of it. It was a lovely peaceful respite to hold onto him, with her new awareness of the sensation of him, but it also made her aware that the feelings were reciprocal.

There was an awareness inside him also. Perhaps because she was so close, perhaps because her magic was growing or perhaps because he was purposely using whatever abilities it was that Templars had to 'keep an eye on' the mark. She didn't know how, but she knew he felt her.

She wasn't sure if she should be worried or...intrigued. She could only assume whatever magic he must smell on her he attributed to the mark, but how long would that assumption last as she continued to learn how to wield her own powers? She had no idea if a Templar could distinguish magic from different sources or if it all ran together like watercolors. She had never asked that question. She wished she had. Then she wondered how many questions a mage could get away with asking a Templar before being smited.

She half expected him to say something to her. Accuse her maybe, or ask her about the mark? But he just dismissed her and went inside his tent. She cleaned herself up a little then she made her rounds.

She busied herself with talking to the requisitions officer, then Cassandra, then Varric, although he was still a little cross with her for making him do so much walking and fighting recently. She spoke with the men Cullen brought with him and when there was no one left to talk to and she was content there was nothing more she could do or learn at the moment she just sat down and waited.

She was still quite sleepy. She had yet to feel truly rested since she began her tutelage with Solas. It was as if she was leading two lives, one in plain view of day and one in the dark of night. Not that her life hadn't always been a dichotomy, but now, she wasn't simply repressing one side of it. She was living it out in the Fade.

She tried to stay awake. She was half worried if she took a nap, Solas would find her and engage her in a lesson. She was grateful, but she was exhausted. His knowledge was vast and he was an eager instructor, if sometimes intense. She trusted in what he showed her, but she imagined there was more he kept hidden. She could hardly criticize that, however, given her situation.

She sat on a rock, staring at the Commander's tent. When a messenger ran past her clutching a parchment with Leliana's seal and dove into said tent, Evelyn couldn't help herself. She followed.

* * *

_A/N: This 'slow burn' stuff is killing me. KILLING ME. I'm such an impatient writer. But it's the only way these two seem to work. I selfishly wish they'd both hurry up and get over their respective PTSD. Especially since I already have that stuff written in my head. But I guess the anticipation is half the reason I love them. Cullen is worth it I suppose :(_

_Oh, and those Templars with the tower shields kick my ass. Every. Time. So I felt the need for Cullen to kill one off. He's such a gentleman ;)_


	7. Decision and Division

**_Chapter 7: Decision and Division_**

The flap of Cullen's tent opened and one of Leliana's messengers ducked inside. Cullen wanted to be irritated at the intrusion, but he had made standing orders that he should always be approached personally and immediately for important matters. The few minutes of peace he was hoping for would have to wait.

"Urgent missive from Sister Leliana, Commander." The breathless man surrendered a sealed letter.

"Thank you. Dismissed." Cullen broke it open and read the Nightingale's tight and elegant script. Cullen swore under his breath.

_When it rains it fucking pours._

No sooner had he read the last word, than Cassandra burst into his tent unannounced as well. She was also holding a letter from the Spymaster.

"I assume you received this too?" She asked.

He just nodded his head, already starting to work through scenarios in his mind.

The Seeker spoke hers aloud, "If what Leliana found out is true and Lord Seeker Lucius is in Val Royeaux to take control of those Templars remaining in the capital then you and I need to go and speak with him personally. I know him, he won't be receptive to someone who has not walked our path. Neither Josephine nor the Herald would be effective in communicating the benefits of an alliance so that he hears them. If you and I can persuade him, however, not only will we have the Templars to help attempt to seal the Breach but any moderate leaning Chantry clerics may follow him, if only for protection, until a new Divine can be chosen. As allies, the Lord Seeker and the Order will give us the legitimacy and the manpower we need to push forward."

Cullen shook his head and started pacing. They had more than one problem to address. "And what of the request for assistance from King Alistair? He and Sister Leliana fought together during the Blight. That he wrote to her personally asking for our help cannot be ignored or delayed. And Arl Teagan is already on his way here with his displaced men from Redcliffe and a contingent of Ferelden regulars."

Cullen didn't add that he owed the king a decade old personal debt and he would rather see that debt paid than have to march off to Orlais to beg the crumbling establishment for an alliance.

"What in the Maker's name is going on at Redcliffe anyway?" He asked, aggravated that there didn't seem to be one corner of the world that wasn't fracturing into anarchy. "How in the Void did Teagan get run out of his own Arling? Have you heard anything since you've been here? I wouldn't trust Fiona and her rebels as far as I could throw them, but they're not idiots. Alistair's was their only offer of sanctuary and she has children and tranquil with her. I find it hard to believe she would betray him by ousting the man's uncle."

Cassandra sat on a low chair and gestured for Cullen to join her in the chair opposite.

"We've heard nothing from Redcliffe." She said with a low and worried tone. "Leliana's people have been unable to get inside the village. There are active rifts there. The gates have been closed for weeks. I even had Varric try to tap his connections to get some kind of word from the castle, but he had no success. There have been a few groups of civilians trickling out, but they know only that the mages have barricaded themselves within the walls. The Herald has been insistent about wanting to travel there after she spoke with some of the refugees, but I've managed to put her off. It was too dangerous with no intelligence on what to expect. It's possible the mages are just trying to protect themselves from a defensible position, but it is also possible they are fortifying for an offensive. We have no way of knowing without going there."

Mention of the Herald brought Cullen back to all the questions he had regarding what she and the Seeker had been doing since they left Haven. "Speaking of the Herald, you were able to dissuade her from going to Redcliffe, but not from running you ragged all over the Hinterlands?"

Cassandra straightened and looked defensive. "What she told you was correct. There are many that have been suffering here. Fundamentally, the Inquisition exists to provide assistance in these dark times in whatever capacity is needed. So, it is true that we have not refused our help to anyone, but neither have we been reckless. She has heeded my counsel when it mattered."

Cassandra looked down then and pursed her lips as if she was weighing whether or not to continue speaking. "The Herald is..." She started, and only proceeded after a deep breath. "...She is strange in many ways Commander."

Cullen leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms across his chest. He _hardly_ needed to be informed of that, but he let the Seeker continue.

"You saw her fight. I am not sure if she is aware of it, but she has been_ taught_ how to fight _Templars_. I did not realize her skills were so focused until we started to come upon other mercenaries and bandits. She is much less effective in those situations, but again, she seems not to notice her knowledge is limited to a unique opponent."

Cullen decided to reserve comment until Cassandra was finished.

"And yet, for knowing how to battle one down, she is..." The Seeker clearly wanted to choose her words carefully. "...overly deferential towards them."

"Overly deferential?" He echoed. Occasionally, the plain speaking Cassandra reverted back to the convoluted innuendo the nobility all seem to have been taught at some point in early childhood.

She threw him a frustrated look, but clarified nonetheless. "Lady Trevelyan is eager to be useful and has shown initiative. She does not need to be led. But I have seen her instinctively defer to Templars in all of her interactions with them. Not the least of which have been with you."

"I am not a Templar any longer." Cullen responded stubbornly. _Perhaps if I keep telling myself that..._

He could see in Cassandra's face that she was thinking the same thing, but she didn't say it. Lyrium might be what bound a Templar, but it wasn't what made one.

"Commander, you saw how she is offering amnesty to the Templars we've come across? Well, she has made no such offers to any mages."

"Then she has more sense than I gave her credit for." The invective came out before Cullen could hold it in. He retracted. "I'm sorry, Lady Cassandra, that was unworthy of me...for many reasons." He stood and rubbed at the aching in the back of his neck and closed his eyes against the ever present throbbing in his head. He exhaled heavily.

"How long has it been?" Cassandra asked.

"Too long." Was his immediate response and then he added, "Not long enough." His body seemed to beg him in a million different ways to go back to the lyrium, the pain of the withdrawal expressing itself with increasing intensity. His conscience reminded him that he had wanted this. He wanted it to last, to see it through, to better himself. But Maker preserve him if he didn't feel like death warmed over already and it was becoming worse each day.

"You are doing well." The Seeker offered innocently enough.

"I don't need your condescension." He spit at her. Then let out a frustrated groan. "Again, I apologize. I...I know you meant only encouragement. Thank you." Cullen sat back down.

Cassandra leaned forward, "You can do this Cullen."

He nodded his head, staring at the ground. This was unproductive. His struggle was personal and miniscule when considering their larger goals. There was work to be done. "We were talking about Lady Trevelyan, were we not?"

The Seeker accepted that this conversation was not meant to be about him and brought her attention back to the Herald. "I find it an odd juxtaposition that she was somehow taught both how to kill a Templar and how to obey one."

Cullen just shrugged. "I doubt her respect for the Templars is any more or less than any Chantry sister has. As to her combat skill set, she's admitted to being trained by her brother who was a Templar. If both of them were given over to the Chantry when they were young, why would you think she would know about any fighting other than what is taught by the Order."

"The Order teaches how to fight mages and demons. She is terrified of both. She's kept herself alive when we've been forced to go against the demons coming from the rifts and she has successfully closed several in the area so far, but she doesn't sleep that night afterwards and she's asked me to watch her and the mark for any ill effects. I told her she should ask Solas to monitor the mark if she was still concerned about it, but she said a mage would not be able to act impartially if she became a risk."

"I agree with her. It is only prudent. Her fear speaks to her intelligence. We still know precious little about the rifts and the mark. It sounds like she wishes to protect herself and others in the event of unforeseen dangers." Cullen sighed. "You say she is capable and she has apparently made a name for herself helping people here. If you have no reservations other than her preference to work with Templars, perhaps we can put the good will she's sown to use."

Cassandra answered with certainly. "These are only observations. I have no reservations. I believe she has a good heart."

"A good heart?" He repeated with a touch of amusement. "I wouldn't take you for a romantic, My Lady. And I don't think Evelyn Trevelyan qualifies as a heroine just yet."

Cassandra huffed and looked affronted.

Cullen offered up his plan. "We can have the Herald stay here and await the Arl. She can represent the Inquisition. It will be helpful if Andraste's Chosen can earn us some favor with the Ferelden Crown if you and I have to be seen currying favor in Orlais. Teagan will have his troops and I will leave a unit of our own soldiers to assist in taking back Redcliffe if it comes to that. Knight-Captain Rylen can lead them, if you say she'll listen to a Templar. You and I will set out for Val Royeaux with the rest of my men."

"Are you sure it's wise for us to march into Val Royeaux with part of our _unaffiliated_ army?" Cassandra looked skeptical.

"If I've learned anything in this life, Seeker, it is that it's wise to be prepared for anything."

xxxx

Evelyn tried to make her way quickly over to Cullen's tent to find out what business the messenger was on but she was intercepted by Solas.

"Distracted already, da'mi?" The elf asked her.

She looked longingly over at Cullen's tent and saw the messenger leave and Cassandra enter. She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He has not yet been here a full day and he is already proving to be a distraction."

She looked Solas in the eyes and then hastily looked away. "He's not." The denial was half-hearted.

"Men like him would seek to shame you out of embracing your magic. And yet you came to me to teach you to cultivate it."

Evelyn looked around nervously, making sure no one was close enough to hear their conversation. Solas was far too bold on far too many occasions talking about her magic. She knew he did it on purpose.

"I came to you to teach me how to_ control_ it. I have no desire to be anyone's weapon as you insist on calling me."

"It is not me who believes you to be a weapon. It is him. He believes mages are weapons. Even so, you seek him out, so I can only assume that is how you wish to be treated; as an object of danger that needs to be controlled by another. You've only just thrown off the shackles of control your family had you bound in. Do you so quickly wish to see them replaced?"

Evelyn's brow furrowed. "No! Of course not, I...I just..."

_You just what? _She thought to herself._ You just want the Templar to take you in hand and save you from yourself? Are you so weak?_

"The Commander is accustomed to holding a mage's leash, so if you want him to hold yours, da'mi, then tell him what you are and have done with it."

She straightened and looked at Solas again. "No. I don't need him."

_I think I need him..._

Solas didn't have a chance to continue scolding her if that was what he meant to do because Cullen and Cassandra emerged from his tent and came up to them.

"My Lady Herald," The Commander addressed her formally and then nodded his head to acknowledge Solas. "We've received some information from Sister Leliana that must be acted upon urgently. Lady Cassandra and I must depart for Val Royeaux. There is an opportunity for an alliance there that we cannot ignore."

Evelyn tried not to look shattered._ Why should I care? Now there will be no distractions._ "But...you've only just arrived." She said, sounding smaller than she wanted.

The Commander's eyes widened a fraction. "I, uh, I'm sorry, My Lady." He said, sounding softer than she imagined he wanted to.

"Do you need me with you? Is there some way I can help?" Evelyn thought she heard Solas make some kind of noise behind her.

Cassandra spoke up when Cullen paused for a moment too long. "We would ask you to stay here. The Arl of Redcliffe has requested assistance from the Inquisition in taking back his lands from the mages. He is on his way to the Crossroads and is bringing Ferelden soldiers with him. You have been wanting to seal the rifts there. Now you will have proper support."

Cullen seemed to find his voice again and continued. "I'll be leaving a unit of Inquisition soldiers under command of Knight-Captain Rylen. We will need you to represent us and attempt to earn the favor of the Arl. His support will go a long way in Ferelden."

"Why so many soldiers? Does the Arl intend for us to take Redcliffe by force? We don't even know what the circumstances are behind the gates. The mages will be dangerous if they feel threatened any more than they already are. More lives will be lost. We should attempt to speak with them first. Fighting them should be a last resort." Though Evelyn had no desire to fight mages, she would if it came to it.

_It would be easier if Cullen stayed with me._

"We trust you to act as you see fit, Herald." Cassandra said. "You've proven you _have a good heart_." Evelyn thought the Seeker narrowed her eyes a little at the Commander when she said those last words. "I will ask Varric to stay with you. You've become comfortable engaging an enemy with his crossbow for support."

"I will stay as well, Seeker Cassandra." Solas offered then he added with a wry smile, "She's likely to injure that shoulder again, after all. That is unless, the Commander can show her how to use a shield before he departs."

"I can." It was said quickly, and it seemed to shock Cullen as much as everyone else. They all turned to look at him questioningly. "I..uh...I mean, no I cannot, obviously, teach you how to wield a shield before we depart." He stammered. "But you do need outfitted more properly. I'll have our quartermaster supply you with light armor that will serve you better than hunting leathers without sacrificing your...ah...agility." He was wearing an odd expression and she was standing close enough to him to swear he felt..._hot_.

"Thank you, Commander. I would appreciate your help." She replied, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet.

Cullen cleared his throat. "I must make preparations to depart." He said and abruptly turned on his heel and walked away.

Evelyn lowered her head and stared at her boots as she walked away as well, not willing to meet Solas' gaze.


	8. Failures and Alliances

**_Chapter 8: Failures and Alliances_**

Cullen was seriously considering taking up drinking. He thought Cassandra may have beaten him to it. He'd never been to the Orlesian capital. He never wanted to come back. He couldn't believe Cassandra had spent so much time here in her past. He could only imagine she lived every day in self-sacrificing misery, her faith great indeed to endure the utter nonsense that was this pompous pageantry in order to stay beside the Most Holy.

Josephine had gone ahead of them and by the time they arrived she had already garnered the support of two moderately wealthy and respectable noble houses. Cullen felt certain she had bargained something away for it but he was sure he didn't want to know what.

Despite the noble backing and countless letters to the White Spire, they had not received any response to their request for an audience with the Lord Seeker. There were murmurings, however, that the Chantry clerics were also getting ignored by the Templars.

Cullen's one and only victory thus far had been convincing Josephine that he should be allowed to stay camped with his men just outside the city. That, however, left Cassandra to stay with Josephine on the estate of one of their new benefactors.

The look of betrayal Cassandra had been giving him for the past few days as a result of this was starting to border on homicidal. As it was, they had managed to draw Cullen into the marketplace today. In a bizarre series of events, a meeting of sorts was arranged with an anonymous party regarding another potential alliance. He and Cassandra followed Josephine as she clutched a letter and a red scarf.

"It seems we're supposed to go..." Josephine abruptly stopped talking when they entered the square to find a large crowd gathered that looked like it was one shout away from becoming a mob. On a dais just ahead of them, a Revered Mother was arguing with none other than Lord Seeker Lucius. There were Templars at his back. Cullen recognized one of them. He had trained with Delrin Barris when they were young, before taking their vows. The man was honest and steadfast. Perhaps if Barris was following the Lord Seeker, there was hope that the man would be reasonable.

Cassandra started to push through the crowd towards the dais. Cullen followed, hand on his sword now, eyes taking in the scene warily, counting men and looking for exits. Lucius and the Revered Mother were definitely not having a friendly exchange.

By the time the three Inquisition representatives were close enough to hear the argument, there were no more words left to hear. They saw the Lord Seeker throw his hands up and walk away from the Revered Mother. She turned to follow but she was immediately struck down by one of the Templars.

Cullen's eyes went wide._ Fuck! _

Without actually thinking another thought aside from the shocked expletive, Cullen automatically drew his sword. The sound of it being pulled from its sheath caused a chain reaction and swords emerged in the hands of all the Templars.

It was Josephine who stopped him before he had a chance to step forward to do Maker knows what. Was he planning on defending the Revered Mother? Attacking the Lord Seeker? He actually didn't give a damn about either one of them, but a Templar punching an old woman in the face just didn't seem like something he should be standing still and watching.

For all he knew, however, this was a normal occurrence in this perverted city. He looked at Josephine who pursed her lips and shook her head, signaling him to remain still while Cassandra chased after Lucius. He was leading his men through the crowd that was parting automatically for him. Shocked cries and urgent murmurs were spreading through every corner of the large square. Cassandra reached him and placed herself in his path.

She started talking before she was even acknowledged. "Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak with..."

He cut her off and brushed past her. "You will not address me."

Cullen gently but firmly shrugged Josephine off and went to stand beside Cassandra. He shook his head at the Ambassador now, indicating she stay put this time. Cullen spoke up, louder than Cassandra. "Lord Seeker, we come representing the Inquisition. We are..."

Lucius turned back towards them with a vicious scowl. "You are the creators of a heretical movement, who raised up a puppet as Andraste's prophet. Where is she? Is she too ashamed to show her face?"

Cullen felt his blood start to heat and the pulse of it grow faster. "Andraste's Herald is doing what is needed. She works to help those left devastated by the war and close the rifts in the sky." He had stepped closer to the Lord Seeker. He had yet to sheath his sword. He felt his face twist in anger. _What was he doing? They were here to ask for this man's help. Why was he so angry? He could have expected this kind of reception. _

Lucius kept talking as if he hadn't spoken. "She _should_ be ashamed. You should all be ashamed!" He waved his hand out at the crowd. "The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!" He pointed an accusatory finger at Cullen now. "You are the ones who have failed. You who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came here to make an appeal you are too late. The only destiny that demands respect here is mine."

Cassandra attempted another impassioned plea. "Lord Seeker, please, hear us..."

Cullen silenced her, finally sheathing his sword and looking past Lucius to his men. "There's no speaking with him, Lady Cassandra." He addressed the men. "I was one of you, I was a Templar. I now command the Inquisitions forces. There is a larger purpose that needs served and a better way to do it than the Chantry is offering, than _he_ is offering." Cullen grit is teeth together. He could almost smell the lyrium on them and it nearly made him fall in line behind Lucius. He was a damned hypocrite. He was offering them a better way when he didn't even know if he was going to succeed at it.

"You abandoned the order for a false Herald!" Lucius pointed accusingly. "You who let Kirkwall crumble and did nothing."

Cullen had no response to the truth. He clenched his fists and remained silent. Fortunately, Cassandra found her voice where his faltered. "He held the city together. He held the Templars there together!_ I_ called him to serve. And the Herald was called by the Maker. Join us. The sky has been torn asunder. The problems we now face are larger than all of us. We must join together!"

Cullen looked gratefully at Cassandra. Her faith was great indeed and it seemed to break through to Barris. "Lord Seeker...What if she really was sent by the Maker? What if..."

"Enough!" Lucius cried out and gestured in animated anger. "_I_ will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition. Independence. The Inquisition has shown me nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march."

The Lord Seeker marched his men through a stunned crowd and out of the city gates. Barris followed Lucius, but not before sparing a long glance at Cullen. He hoped it wouldn't be the last time he saw the man.

Josephine came up behind them. "_That_ degenerated rather quickly." She remarked, one eyebrow raised and one hand perched on her hip. "We need to inform Leliana."

Cullen turned to Cassandra. She was staring after the Templars, confusion etched in the scars on her face. "He's gone mad. I know him. He was always a decent man, never given to ambition and grandstanding. This is...bizarre."

"This is typical." Cullen mumbled. This was just one more time the Order had failed him. "We'll follow up on this person Josephine wants to find and then we're leaving this Maker forsaken city."

xxxx

Teagan and Rylen had been arguing for days. Long enough for Evelyn, Varric and Solas to find the Warden that Sister Leliana has sent them a missive about and recruit him into the Inquisition.

Blackwall was a gifted warrior and his presence made Evelyn feel Cassandra's absence less acutely. He also seemed entirely committed to serving the greater good and was all too eager to join their cause. It made Evelyn certain the man was hiding some painful scar from his past. His single-minded devotion was far too familiar to her.

But she was no hypocrite, so she let the man keep his secrets.

More than once, both the Knight-Captain and the Arl attempted to draw the Warden into their argument about how best to take back Redcliffe. He was remaining infuriatingly neutral. Evelyn couldn't help but think Josephine would have been impressed at the man's absolutely unflappable diplomacy.

Evelyn was trying to stay out of it as well, offering her opinions only when the discussion came around to the Rifts she would ultimately need to eliminate to give them a safe road to the Arl's lands. But she was starting to get impatient.

The longer they delayed, the more uneasy Evelyn felt about..._something_. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the silence from the mages sequestered behind Redcliffe's gates was becoming increasingly unnerving.

She had discussed it with Solas, wondering if she was being overly wary, but much to her surprise he agreed with her that the magic gathering behind those walls was anything but innocent.

So today, she stood between Rylen and Teagan in front of a table in her tent that was covered with maps and blueprints. Rylen was still insisting on a frontal assault through the gates led by Templars and Teagan was still insisting on leading his men through the secret passages into the castle.

"My Lord," Rylen's tone was even and respectful, but the tightness in his voice betrayed his frustration, "if those passages have been discovered by the mages, they will have placed all manner of magical impediments there to prevent entry. And even if you could get through, there would be no way to launch a proper assault. The space constraints alone would make us have to be too few in number and the quarters would be too close for my men to effectively counter magical attacks."

Evelyn wholeheartedly agreed with him. There was the potential for too much loss of life with Teagan's plan.

"Knight-Captain," Teagan's tone was as equally proper and annoyed as Rylen's, "laying siege to Redcliffe is a near impossibility. Better men than us have attempted and failed. The place is a fortress and we have no idea what kind of resistance they have been able to muster in preparation for a siege. Maker knows they've had the bloody time while we've been arguing." Teagan rubbed his eyes, the gesture making the statement more one of resignation than accusation.

Evelyn agreed with him as well. A siege was entirely improbable, the loss of life potentially even greater than using the tunnels.

"Maybe we should just knock." She had meant it as a joke, but when both men looked at her like she was small child who had spoken out of turn, she felt suddenly offended. Even when he was scolding her, Cullen never looked at her like that. She stuck her chin stubbornly and decided to defend herself. "Both of the options presented will serve only to lose lives. As you say, Lord Teagan, we have no idea what we'll find there. And as you say, Knight-Captain, that means we have no way to protect our men against it. So, while it perhaps sounded flippant, my suggestion is our best option. I am the only one that can see to the rifts. Varric, Solas and Warden Blackwall are familiar with what must be done as they have assisted me in closing those we have found thus far. The four of us alone can go to seal the Rifts and then we will _'knock on the door'_."

They both opened their mouths to protest, but she kept talking. "I am neither a Templar, nor the Arl whose lands they have usurped. The mages will have no reason to feel threatened by me."

_I'm one of them, after all._

"I represent the Inquisition, which is a neutral party. If they have demands I will offer to hear them. At the very least we need to attempt to talk. The more those mages feel threatened the more perilous this entire venture becomes."

She had no wish to fight abominations and she wouldn't let anyone be led to their deaths fighting demons if she could help it. She could see in his face, she was getting through to the Arl. Rylen was another matter, he started talking immediately on the heels of her last word, shaking his head vehemently and waving his hands in the negative.

"This is unacceptable, My Lady. The Commander gave explicit orders..." He hesitated, his voice trailing off, his eyes going wide at what was clearly an admission of something he wasn't supposed to have said.

"The Commander gave explicit orders...?" She repeated, hoping he would finish this time. He'd already stepped in it. There was nothing left to lose.

With a sigh, he continued. "The Commander gave explicit orders not to put you at risk, Lady Herald...under _any_ circumstance."

The Knight-Captain's inflection at the last part suggested that perhaps the threat of an "or else..." followed those orders.

Nevertheless, Evelyn's defiant streak continued. "Well, Ser Rylen, Commander Cullen isn't here."

_Because he left you._

"And I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

_But you'd feel safer if he was here._

"And I am the only one who can get us past the Fade Rifts to even be able to approach Redcliffe. Therefore, we're doing it _my_ way." She stormed out of her own tent, wondering what she'd just gotten herself into.

xxxx

Cullen settled down in front of the fire outside his tent to sharpen his blade. He nodded at the soldiers on first watch as they passed him. The elf, Sera was with them, her bow in hand. He wasn't sure if it was because he was on his last strand of patience with this city, but picking up the elf had been a welcome diversion after what had happened with Lucius.

And he would die a thousand deaths before he admitted it, but he liked her. Again, it was likely only because he had been harboring a secret desire to start killing nobles the longer he was here, but damned if it wasn't one of the most satisfying things he'd ever seen when the slight little elf shot an arrow straight through that noble prick's face. They hadn't even known who the blighter was. It was fantastic.

It was actually fortunate Cullen found her tolerable, because no one else seemed to. Josephine and Cassandra couldn't even communicate with her. He imagined they hadn't had much exposure to the back alley Denerim accent Sera spoke with. She seemed motivated enough to help the Inquisition, however, and he didn't have many archers among the soldiers that had joined them thus far, so he was sure she would be useful.

As he sat, he thought he might actually get a little sleep tonight, with his thoughts in a generally brighter place than was typical. He would almost say he was happy. Or at least what passed for it in his life. They were leaving Val Royeaux tomorrow. In his mind, that was cause to celebrate.

With the departure of the Templars, and Empress Celene's forces spread thin by the civil war she was fighting, the capital was essentially unprotected. Josephine had asked him if they could leave the men he brought here to garrison the city as a gesture of good faith between Orlais and the Inquisition. He agreed on the terms that he would never be asked to come here again and that Cassandra be allowed to forgo any further diplomatic responsibilities as the former Right Hand of the Divine and let her camp with the soldiers for the remainder of their stay.

Josephine agreed and she was happy. Cassandra escaped having to mingle with the cloying nobility, so she was happy. He fleetingly wondered if he shouldn't buy Leliana a pair of shoes to ensure her happiness as well. It couldn't hurt to earn some credit for the next time he found himself in a disagreement with the spymaster. She might remember the shoes and forget she wanted to shiv him.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of life sometimes. He'd never been particularly 'good' with women and now here he was, surrounded by them, and expending nearly as much mental energy making sure they were all happy than he had preparing for his vigil. His instincts for survival had always been good, he supposed, and what was keeping women happy if not self-preservation?

And with thoughts of the women now playing prominent roles in his life, came thoughts of the one who was most important...

To the Inquisition. Not to him.

_What would make _her_ happy? _

It was a tiny innocent voice in his head. Small enough to avoid suspicion. Insignificant enough to escape scrutiny. Evelyn..._Lady Trevelyan _was exhausting herself while they'd been apart he was certain. She'd been given no choice in joining them. Not like Cassandra had given him. Her cooperation was forced on her and her family had apparently disowned her for it. And yet, she had toiled as much as any of them.

_She deserves to be happy._

His mind wandered. Whether he was conscious of it and allowed it to happen or whether he would deny awareness of it later, he didn't know but refused to dwell on. He thought of her. He had seen her smile. Most of the time it was a forced thing. He could tell._ Why could he tell?_ She was the type to smile just to make others comfortable. He had seen her laugh. Mostly at Varric's jokes. _But was she happy?_ As much as anyone could be in times such as these? As much as he could be?

Then he thought of something. If he was even remotely considering buying Leliana shoes, he could certainly do something for the Herald. The idea came to him quickly. Too quickly. Quickly enough to suggest there was a part inside his head that had been dwelling on her, but he pushed the possibility of admitting to that aside. He would take care of the necessary arrangements for Lady Trevelyan's gift in the morning himself. He would ask Josephine to pick up the shoes for Leliana.

Decisions made, he rose from the ground leaving the fire behind for the bedroll in his tent when he heard Sera shout out to him. He turned to see her marching a man forward at the point of an arrow. Cullen squinted in the moonlight. It was Ser Barris.

"Oi, Commander fancy breeches!" In the short time they had known each other, she had called him no less than a hundred different derogatory titles. But they weren't quite as offensive as how she typically addressed Josephine or Cassandra, so he tolerated it. "Got me a lurker. Found him sniffin' about at the edge of camp. Says he knows you. All you shiny armor types look the same to me. Don't know how you tell each other apart to know someone."

"We recognize each other's swords..." Cullen answered her with a smirk, letting his innuendo hang in the air before she picked up on it. She scowled at him for a moment before she smiled, snorted, then laughed annoyingly loudly.

"You're almost people, you are." She lowered her bow and walked away from them, still chuckling.

Cullen put his business face back on to address the Templar. "Ser Barris, it's good to see you. I had wondered if you remembered me."

"I'm glad to see you as well, Knight-Commander, if a bit surprised." The man extended his hand to Cullen.

"That's not my title any longer." He corrected and they shook hands.

"I...uh...I understand." Barris said, but Cullen knew he did not. "Ser, I..." He cleared his throat. "I come seeking aid. For my...for _our_ brothers."

There was a dark urgency to his words. Cullen's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" He asked slowly.

"The Lord Seeker, Ser. He's...there's...something_ wrong_. Very wrong. He's not right. None of this is right." Barris closed his eyes and shook his head. "That sounds ridiculous. The _world_ isn't right, I know, but still, please you, the Inquisition, must help. I don't know who else can, or will. I slipped away. I knew I had to find you and hoped you were still camped here. The Lord Seeker is marching what remains of the Order to Therinfal Redoubt. Please. Say you'll help."

Cullen studied the man's eyes. He saw fear. Real fear. There was precious little an experienced Templar feared. Cullen knew all too well what those things were. They still haunted his every waking moment, his every sleeping step in the Fade.

There had been a time long ago when he could do nothing to help his brothers. Though no longer one of them, he would be damned before he sat helpless ever again.

"Come" He said resolutely. "Tell me everything."

* * *

_A/N: I've grown completely infatuated with Cullen and Cassandra being besties. And I decided that since my first instinct is to always have Cullen hate Sera that I should try something different and make them not friends exactly, but not enemies. I have so much in my head that needs written, but RL insists on kicking my ass lately. But since I write this nonsense to beat back stress, I try to find time to write every day, even if it's only a paragraph. So, thanks so much for reading!_


	9. Fear and Foreboding

**_Chapter 9: Fear and Foreboding_**

Evelyn perspired with imaginary sweat and deeply inhaled imaginary air. She wished the elf looking down at her where she lay flat on her back on the ground was imaginary as well.

They were inside some centuries old crumbling keep. She didn't recognize the place. Then again, she never recognized where Solas took her when they were in the Fade. This long abandoned fortress had been making frequent appearances of late. Wherever they were, it was cold. Or at least the Fade's approximation of it. Between Haven and the Hinterlands, Evelyn thought she might never be warm again and it seemed she was destined to endure freezing temperatures even in her sleep.

"You're very slow." Solas remarked with an amused quirk of his lip.

She propped herself up on her elbows. "I'm not slow. You fight unfairly." She gestured over to a half fallen staircase across the large inner courtyard where they were sparring. "You were all the way over there. How was I supposed to know to defend against a close range attack? One expects lightning and other such magical attacks to come from a distance. One does not expect rocks to rise up from beneath their feet and hit them in face." Over the past few nights of training she had been getting more and more sullen. Even she was starting to find it unbecoming. She attributed it to fatigue.

She did not attribute it to missing Cull..._the Commander_.

"You are increasingly proficient in casting your magic, da'mi. However, you seem to be increasingly deficient in defending against magic." Solas folded his arms looking too satisfied by half at his clever insult. "The mages in Redcliffe will eat you alive if it comes to fighting. And I've already told you, it will come to that."

He sighed dramatically and helped Evelyn to her feet. She was already rolling her eyes at the speech she knew she would be coming next.

"You'll be better off requesting Ser Rylen send his Templars to accompany us. They can protect you, as you are accustomed..."

"Enough!" She cut him off. She'd heard one too many snide comments from him about Templars. He was doing it on purpose. _Shall I call a Templar to rescue you? Perhaps you need a Templar to help control your magic for you? Wouldn't you rather train with Commander Cullen? _The elf had no shortage of barbs.

"Come at me!" She shouted at him. She decided she was in no mood to listen to his prodding about Templars.

_You think about him enough as it is, you don't need reminded about him by smug elves in your sleep._

Solas wasted no time pulling his damn rocks up from the ground again. She focused herself, softly reciting the words of the Chant unconsciously. This time she was ready for him. She disappeared from the spot where she was standing with a blinding flash and reappeared behind Solas, force readied at her fingertips. She pushed out with it, but he brought a barrier up against her just in time. He waved his staff and she felt ice start to crystalize around her legs. A well placed fireball thrown square at his chest did the job of stopping his spell. She lifted her other hand up and grabbed fire from the sky, allowing it to rain down on them both. He managed to evade the falling flames, but at least she was warm now.

She continued her Chant. The familiar feeling of it on her lips and the freedom of her magic filling her up both helped to restore some of her confidence. But then he countered with something unexpected.

Solas stood, staff outstretched, just staring at her. She looked at him and then looked around waiting for something to happen. When nothing did happen, it was all the more unnerving when a mindless fear suddenly gripped her. She felt it in her chest and down to her bones. Her head spun with it, and her stomach was sick with it. She doubled over, looking around frantically for the source but finding none.

_What is this? How is this happening?_ She asked herself frantically. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But her voice lay trapped inside her throat and her feet were rooted in place. She couldn't fight back, there was nothing to fight, _but she had to fight_. She was just so..._scared._

She grasped at her magic inside her, desperate for some way out of this nightmare of nameless fear. She felt lightning explode out of her without direction and fire spilled from her mouth like breath. She froze the ground beneath her solid and she managed to form a single ball of pulsing energy and hurl it forward.

Her wild attack did manage to hit Solas and, just as suddenly as it came, the blinding terror melted away. She was left panting and clutching at herself, crouched down and tremulous. Through clouded eyes she saw her tutor walking slowly towards her. He lowered himself down to her level and sat on the ground. His large eyes looked at her with concern and something almost akin to pity.

She found her voice, but it was shaky and hesitant. "W...What w..was that?"

When he spoke it wasn't with his typical tone of amused chastisement. It was soft and sad. "I'm sorry I made you feel that, da'mi. I have no wish to see you suffer. But I had to make you realize. Your greatest enemy is not the mages or the rifts in the sky. It is not your magic, nor is it the spirits of the Fade. Your greatest enemy is your own fear."

"A man who fears nothing is foolish." She said defensively, looking away from his burning gaze.

"You are correct. To have fear is wise. But to let it rule you is dangerous." He looked at her for a long time as she slowly caught her breath. Then he shook his head and cast his eyes downward. "You should rest in what little time there is left in this night, before we reach Redcliffe tomorrow.

She felt the Fade start to dissolve around her. The keep melted away. The image of Solas started to blur as her body roused from sleep. He sounded distant when he spoke again. "You must find a way to master this dark emotion, lest the weight of it paralyze you..."

The dream world disappeared and turned black, leaving only the echo of Solas' last words to her before she awoke.

"...For there are more things to fear on both sides of the Veil than are dreamt of by mortal men..."

xxxx

"That place is locked up tighter than a Chantry girl's legs, Commander."

Cullen raised an eyebrow at the scout's assessment. Leliana brought her hand up in front of her mouth to cover a smile. Cassandra grunted at the young woman disapprovingly.

"Uh.." The scout, Ritts if he remembered her name correctly, coughed. "...Sorry. Anyway. The Templars have been holed up in there since we arrived, no one has come or gone and we've yet to find a way in."

Cullen rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Do you have anything of value to report?"

"Sorry, sir. We'll keep at it." Was the only response she had before she hung her head and left the tent.

They had extended their stay in Val Royeaux briefly after Ser Barris joined them to decide their next steps. The Templar told Cullen everything he knew about Lord Seeker Lucius, which unfortunately wasn't much. Mildly strange behavior, mostly isolationism, a few secret missives delivered directly into the Lord Seekers hands, questionable cargo brought with them that Barris never saw the inside of, but nothing substantial enough to work out what exactly Lucius had planned for the future of the Order or why he was taking them away from the White Spire and setting up a fortified base in the middle of nowhere at the abandoned redoubt.

But it was enough suspicious activity, that Cullen and Cassandra were concerned for the men under the Lord Seeker's charge, especially given the anxiety that Barris came to them with. A Templar's instincts for danger were never wrong. If the Order taught them nothing else it was how to sniff out the dark and foreboding that others shied away from. And so, not willing to leave their brethren to the unknown, and also not willing to completely give up hope of an alliance, they decided to act.

After communication with Sister Leliana, they made plans to investigate. She would go with her forward scouts to Therinfal. Josephine would travel back to Haven. Cullen, Cassandra and Barris would ride out to rendezvous with the Spymaster, keeping their numbers purposely low so as not to alert the Templars to their movements.

And because Cullen was the only person who seemed able to translate for Sera, she had come with them as well. Though he had to endure numerous slights against his rank and position and more than a few against his manhood. At least that was what Cullen assumed she was slighting. Some of her euphemisms were beyond even him. Insults aside, he reasoned it was worth having an experienced archer along.

Cullen had been hoping for more information when they arrived, however, than what they just got and he said as much to Leliana.

"Perhaps you think we should just knock on the front door, Commander?" She asked with her pretty smile that he knew hid something sinister underneath. It always managed to send a chill up his spine. Templar instincts hard at work.

"Well, at least that would be doing something rather than just sitting here cowering in the woods. Continuing to stare at the walls certainly isn't going to get us anywhere." He was getting short-tempered. More so than usual. Wisely, he stopped himself before he said something crass or insulting and equally wisely, Leliana chose to goad him no further.

He noticed Cassandra give him a look of annoyed frustration. He would have to avoid her later. He didn't need any more speeches about 'resting' to combat the withdrawal. He could feel his body start to atrophy from all the 'rest' he was getting. He hadn't drawn his sword since he fought alongside Evel..._Lady Trevelyan_...in the Hinterlands.

He cursed under his breath, hoping the women hadn't heard him, and rubbed at the back of his aching neck. Not for the first time, he wished he had stayed with the Herald.

For the fighting. Not for any other reason.

He was certain she was seeing more action than him right now and he envied her. He wasn't worried about her safety. He'd left enough men with her, and the Arl had his own men with him. He trusted Rylen to look after her. He'd certainly threatened the man enough. He wasn't about to let harm come to Andraste's chosen on his watch.

He envied Rylen too.

_Was she deferring to him right now, as she does to you? Would he notice her song the way you do when she's near? Is he teaching her how to use a shield? What would she look like, sweating, muscles straining under the heavy metal of it? What would she look like, sweating, muscles straining under you...?_

_What?_

"Commander...?"

"Hm? I'm sorry. What?" He hadn't been listening. Had Leliana asked him something?

"You're _scowling_ Commander." Cassandra pointed out with her typical unforgiving severity.

"It, uh, I've a headache, is all." He pinched his eyes for emphasis, but it was hardly a lie.

"It is late. We'll leave you to rest Commander. As should we all get some rest." The Nightingale adjourned their meeting and the women left his tent with a nod goodnight.

Cullen just stood there alone for a moment, then he started pacing. He wished he could go for a long walk like he had become accustomed to at night, but they all agreed to stick close to the camp to avoid detection. He wished he knew some other way to clear his head. There was nothing to fight right now and he didn't want to deal with Cassandra's disapproving looks if he asked her to spar when he should be sleeping. Sleep. Well, sleep was never an option. At least not sleep that was restful enough to clear his head. There was no busy work that needed his attention, as usually hounded him in Haven. And prayer...prayer held less solace than it had in his youth. He still tried. Every day he tried. Most times he was just left with the emptiness of his unanswered pleas. He supposed emptiness was its own kind of clarity, but not exactly what he'd hoped for. Recently though, praying the Chant made him think of her.

Her innocent steadfast devotion, so much like his used to be. The hopeful way her lips formed the silent words as if she knew they would help her. The way the feeling of her was all he could think about when she was near, pushing aside the chaos and leaving him more..._clear. _He wondered how he had balked at it at first. Then again, an animal that's been abused often balks at the strangeness of any touch not meant to deliver harm.

He stopped pacing. He decided to look at it again. His gift for her. He didn't know why he hadn't just given it to Josephine to bring back to Haven. But he hadn't and now he sifted through one of his packs and pulled out the object, neatly wrapped in silk, emblazoned with the Templar heraldry. When a Knight of the Order died, if there was family who survived him, they were presented with the hilt of his sword, the blade being laid to rest with his remains.

Her brother's remains, sword and all were long lost in the far reaches of the Fade after the Conclave and if her family had been presented with anything it would have been given to her father. He thought she might appreciate the gesture of remembrance so he had the blade removed from his own sword in Val Royeaux so he could give her the hilt.

Cassandra had looked at him strangely, but didn't comment. He felt no remorse over giving up his Templar sword. He easily acquired another one for himself. One that didn't have quite so much blood on it. Ridiculous that he thought that. What else is a sword for than to spill blood? But he hoped the blood he spilled with it from this point on would be in the service of something good and not in the service of his anger and bitterness.

He unwrapped the familiar object. The grip was worn and molded to his hand. The guard was nicked and well used. He could recall how every mar and scratch on the thing had been formed even though he didn't want to and often tried very hard to forget.

Cullen had no idea what he was hoping to accomplish by giving her this. It had been a passing whim to find her a gift, but then he thought to do this. This. This, that wasn't a piece of her brother or her family, but a piece of _him_. _Why?_

The sense of it still eluded him no matter how many times he stared at the thing. So he did what was fast becoming a ritual for him and wrapped it back up, tucking it away again in his pack, thinking not of the past it represented, but of the future. And of _her_.


	10. Darkness and Discord

**_Chapter 10: Darkness and Discord_**

_The highest tower room was dark but Cullen could still make out a thin wafting of incense passing through broken beams of moonlight shining in from the stained glass. The familiar smell of lyrium was thick and it clung to the inside of his nostrils. If he were to open his mouth he was sure he would be able to taste it in the air, tingling on his tongue like a drunken kiss._

_His sword was drawn and he stood ready, reassured of his purpose simply by holding the blade in his hands. _

_Was this still his sword? He'd replaced it with another, hadn't he?_

_The weight of his armor felt good on his limbs. _

_Why did it feel good? Didn't it used to feel heavy?_

_The mage had been gone too long. He knew. He always knew when it had been too long, when it had gone too far, when there was no hope. But he waited. Even forcing himself to wait, he was still considered the swiftest at this task, the most decisive, showing the least hesitation. A credit to the Order. An exemplary Templar. This time was no different. _

_When the first crack of the Fade started splitting her skin his sword was already moving. He didn't give her time enough to turn. That was the only mercy he saw fit to bestow. Let them die still themselves. He gave them all good deaths. This was no different._

_Until he saw her face. __Had he ever looked at their faces?_

_Evelyn?_ Evelyn.__

_But it was too late. Her delicate hands were clasped around his blade buried deep as it was in her chest. He saw the blood well up and spill forth from her full lips and run down the pale skin of her chin. Dark eyes looked up at him, pained, betrayed, __hurting_. __

_This was no Harrowing. She was no mage. Why had he done this?_

_Suddenly his armor was heavy, his sword unwanted. And he heard a few faint notes of a beautiful song, before she crumpled to the ground at his feet, the music dying with her..._

Cullen woke as he always did now, burning with fever, mouth dry, nerves frayed and chest too tight to draw in enough air. He sat up panting trying to remember the nightmare. That in itself was odd that it was slipping away from him so quickly upon awakening. Usually they haunted his every step on both sides of the Veil and nothing he did could rid them from his mind.

Had he dreamt of Evelyn? Dark hair, dark eyes, red blood, armor he had chosen to set aside and a sword he had chosen to lay down?

He stood and pulled his shirt over his head, unable to bear the heat. He threw it to the ground and paced restlessly in his tent. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, dead on his feet, not wanting to sleep at all but unable to force his body to continue on. He had dreamt of Evelyn. He was certain of it.

He felt torn. It had been...unpleasant. Something had happened in the dream, but all he could remember was a sick feeling of regret and longing that just made him want to forget this nightmare along with all the rest. But still, it had been her and the thought of her finding her way into his sleeping mind was...soothing. Less lonely. Easier to bear.

He turned his head to a scratching sound against the canvas of the tent coming from outside. His sword was in his hands before he recognized the voice that whispered harshly at him from the other side.

"Oi! Soldier man! Got news for ya. I'm comin' in, so tuck it all up. I don't need to be seein' any unsheathed swords, yeah."

Cullen rolled his eyes and set down his sword, knowing that wasn't the weapon Sera had meant. Her little blond head ducked under the flap, her hand shielding her eyes as she stepped inside, when she saw him still decent she dropped her hand. "Good." She said. "So I found a way in to see your rank 'n file friends. Don't say I never gotcha nothin."

He moved forward, wide awake now, the last remnants of the Fade falling from his shoulders quickly at this new information. "You what? Why are you coming to me first? Have you not told Leliana?"

"I'm here first 'cause everyone knows you don't sleep none. And that scary Chantry ginger creeps me out six ways from Sunday, she does. All murdery and pious at the same time. Those two things shouldn't go together." She made a sour face to go along with her sour impression of the Left Hand of the Divine.

"You were saying you found a way in?" He redirected her back to her original point.

"Yeah, see witty Rittsy and me was havin' a tumble, right? Well, then we actually had a tumble, right down an embankment. Round the back end. Of the castle. Not the rear end back end." Sera snorted out a laugh. "Barely got me knickers up before we hit the brambles. Well, when we got to the bottom, there it was plain as daisies, please an' thank you ma'am."

"What was 'there'?" He understood more than half of that speech so Cullen considered himself on good enough footing to allow her to continue. He was actually glad she had come to him first. Anyone else would have already tossed her out on her tapered ear.

"A storm drain!" She exclaimed, clearly frustrated with him, if that could be believed. "We picked open the grate and snuck on through to the inside. Loads o' your metal plated buddies in there, yeah, but seemed like half of them weren't so sweet on the other half no more. Heard arguin' and fussin' then shoutin' and fightin' and that's when we got right out to get back here and call in the cavalry. Oh! And it smelled like piss and magic in there. Thought you lot just stunk like lyrium. You not so bad, but them others..." She stuck out her tongue and held her nose. Then she stomped her foot and made some kind of 'hurry up' gesture with her hands. "So let's go then Commander Stick-up-his-arse, time to pull it on out and start hittin' people with it!"

Cullen was already donning his armor and grabbing up his sword and shield. "Tell Ritts to get Sister Leliana. I'll wake Cassandra and Barris. Go." The elf scurried out and in less than five minutes all of them were huddled, stepping silently behind Sera as she led the way to the passage her impromptu sexual encounter with the scout had uncovered.

The group skidded down the embankment as quietly as possible with three of their number clad in heavy armor. When they were at the grate, Barris and Cullen pulled it free of its rusty hinges.

"Sister Leliana, you should stay here. If Sera is right and there is already fighting inside we can't risk both you and the Seeker going in. Let the rest of us go. We'll have Sera's bow, there's no need for yours as well. If it's more than we can handle, we'll fall back and come up with another plan." It seemed the most sensible course of action to him, but before he was even finished speaking he knew he was going to get shit for suggesting it.

"Are you saying I can't defend myself, Commander?" The Nightingale accused.

He was ready for her. "Quite the opposite. Those are Templars in there. If it comes to killing, I wouldn't want you mistaking me for one of them and accidentally sending me to the Maker. I'm not quite ready to go yet." He offered a small smile of truce.

"Well played, Commander." Leliana relented. I will await you all out here. My scouts and I will position ourselves at every exit. She turned from them swiftly and disappeared into the night.

The rest of them crouched into the tight spaces of the storm drain, only enough room sideways for the shield bearing warriors to pass single file and for Sera to hold her bow down at her side.

There was a hypnotic, steady dripping sound echoing against the ancient stones, disrupted only by the soft splash of their footfalls as they walked through the lingering puddles. It was near pitch black and Cullen, in the front, led with his sword. The newness of the blade felt right. It felt fresh in his hands, eager and itching to prove itself. As he was. Prove himself separate from Order. Apart from whatever darkness they were entering. And he was certain it was darkness they would find here. He smelled it even outside the walls and the stench of corruption only grew stronger the further they ventured inside.

When they emerged into the lowest level of the place, that had the look of a dungeon gone into disrepair, he heard it. They all heard it, but he _knew _what he was hearing. The broken notes of the discordant song bit at them, soft at first but growing louder as they ascended. The Red scratched inside his head, at odds with the lingering Blue. The ever present dull ache at his temples started throbbing out in earnest now.

"It was red lyrium." He rumbled out under his breath as the corridor they were following came to an intersection. Barris and Cassandra who had both unwittingly sheathed their swords to rub at the pounding in their own heads turned to him. "The cargo you saw the Lord Seeker acquire. It's red lyrium. I've heard..._seen_ it before." He corrected himself, not wanting to admit to the song trying to penetrate his mind.

If only he had known back then this was how it sounded. If he had known it was this that had Meredith in its hold in Kirkwall and that it wasn't just some figment of his damaged thoughts trying to damage him further...

"Like...after the Conclave...?" Cassandra asked, her voice uncharacteristically shaky as she looked around them expecting to see the glowing red rock formations.

"I have no idea." Cullen said testily, pulled from his moment of guilt. He couldn't have known then, but he knew now. "Whatever form it is taking, it is here."

"Pipe down, you giant noisy clods!" Sera pushed past them. "There's things goin' on up ahead." She stuck her ear out down the corridor.

Cullen pushed away the call of the lyrium, both kinds. He was getting better at it. It was no easier, and each time he consciously fought it, it seemed to grow more difficult. But he did it anyway. Barris was still squeezing his eyes shut, his hand faintly shaking where it was held up to his brow.

"Don't listen to it." Cullen ordered the man harshly. "If you want to live." If the Knight was going to survive whatever lay ahead, he could not allow himself to be seduced by the false call.

Cullen took the lead again moving in the direction Sera indicated. A large set of double doors came up on their left and he heard the much more tangible song of swords meeting shields coming from inside. Cassandra and Barris at least had the peace of mind to draw their weapons again, their own shields held fast in front of them. Cullen approached the doors warily, wondering if he should kick them in or try to open them slowly. The decision was taken from him when they flew open of their own accord and a heap of metal came flying through, crashing against the opposite wall and crumpling to the floor. The woman who had once been the Templar encased in that metal armor was now no more. That is, if the impossible angle of her neck when she landed was any indication.

Cullen rushed into the room, the others close at his heels and the sight that met them left him only with the feeling of inevitability, confirming everything he already knew of the world. For it was a vortex of chaos this world they lived in and for all the order its inhabitants tried to impose upon it, it would always inevitably fall back into entropy. And that was what they saw before them.

A battle was already raging, what remained of the Templar Order apparently having crumbled from within. Half the combatants looked shocked and terrified. The other half had gone red. It was glowing behind their eyes and pulsing in their veins. It made Cullen want to scream and retch. It made him want to give up and die.

But he did none of those things. He had never allowed himself to do those things under even more dire circumstances than these so he certainly wasn't going to let it happen now. Instead he charged forward into the fight and he took off his leash.

The leash he had forced himself to wear since he had been broken at the Circle during the blight. The one that kept his hate and rage apart from the man he had to be to continue to function in society. The leash that allowed him to live among the order of mankind and not be a part of the chaos.

It was that leash he took off and with the restraint of it gone, another man emerged. The one that wanted to raze Kinloch Hold down into the black waters that surrounded it. The one who looked on with indifference as Meredith crushed the mages of the Gallows beneath her boots. The one who hated himself for being allowed to exist at all.

The Red Templars attacked and broke themselves upon this man as the tide broke itself upon the rocks of the shore. There was no lyrium song when the bloodlust pounded out a rhythm in his head. It was better that way.

With the addition of himself, Cassandra, Barris and Sera, the Knights trying to fend off the corrupted Templars were successful. When the Red ones lay dead, Barris and Cassandra questioned those that remained. Cullen was already in too deep. Their voices seemed far away. Let them talk and ask their questions. He knew all he needed to know. He prowled around the bodies looking into their dead eyes that had died long before he had struck them down.

And they deserved it. They deserved it for their weakness and their dependence. Their blindness and their naivety. He hated them for it. And he hated himself, for he was still more like them than he was like the man he wanted to be.

They fought through the fortress, saving who they could, joining with those Templars who hadn't yet been lured by the dark song. Though able to block it out, Cullen's thoughts grew darker on their own as they went, seeking out the Seeker who had brought this fate upon the Order. Lucius was here and he would not escape justice.

_Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the Champions of the Just..._

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A/N: I was going to make this one chapter to include Cullen's struggle with Envy, but it would have been too long. My attention span gets maxed out well before 4000 words. Unless its smut. Then magically my attention expands. I also didn't want to break up Cullen's battle with Evelyn's upcoming battle since their respective fights are going to be important points of introspection for them that will influence their attitudes towards each other and towards themselves when they meet back up. You probably really didn't need to know all that. And I probably should stop writing ridiculous analysis for my own fanfiction and just go work on the next chapter. Thank you for reading! ;)


	11. Envy and Intrigue

**_Chapter 11: Envy and Intrigue_**

_The Elder One is coming. No one will leave Therinfal who is not stained red..._

Cullen knew he should be asking if the others were hearing the voice as well. Taunting, somewhere off in the distance, or somewhere above, or maybe somewhere inside his head, he couldn't tell. He should ask them and be reassured it wasn't only him. But he didn't ask. He would add it to the list of profoundly bad decisions that were stacked like stones so high behind him they threatened to topple on his head at any moment. All because he didn't want to know if it was _only_ him who heard.

He kept his head down and his sword up as they purged the Red Templars. Those of his former brethren not turned fell into step behind him without having to utter a single order. When he attacked, they attacked. Where he led, they followed. They were a pack, looking for an alpha. They were an army, looking for a Commander. And, as so many things, only the Maker knew why, it fell to him.

As each man and woman looked expectantly at him in turn for the leadership they so craved and had been denied for so long he could have felt so many things. He _could_ have felt relieved that they were able to save a good number of Templars and protect the Order that he had once held dear. He _could_ have felt betrayed that it had come to this and that they had lost faithful men and women to the whims of chaos and uncertainty. He _could_ have felt powerful that, once again, he was the last sane man standing, if he could even get away with using the word 'sane' in relation to himself at all.

But he felt none of those things. What he felt was _envy._

He was sick to death of it all. He didn't want to have to save anyone. He didn't want to suffer any feelings of betrayal. He rejected the power wrought by what was nothing more than a stubborn insistence in his body to continue living when others so readily passed on. He envied their small positions, their empty heads, waiting to be filled with any order that came by. It would just be so much easier. Why was he always the one to stand alone? Why was it him that must always be set apart? Why must he be forced to endure?

He envied the followers. It was so much easier to just follow...

"He's there, look!" Cassandra shouted as she pulled her sword free from one of the red abominations, then pointed it at the figure of Lord Seeker Lucius standing at the top of the highest tower's stairs.

The sight of the man responsible for..._this_, all of this, pushed Cullen over the edge. He had not been the one to kill Uldred at Kinloch Hold. He had not been the one to kill Meredith or Orsino or even Anders in Kirkwall. He decided..._no, his rage decided_, the rage of years, carefully controlled and painfully unrequited decided for him that this time he _would_ be the one to kill the evil that once again saw fit to cross his path.

He wasn't thinking. Clearly, he had stopped thinking when he threw down his sword. His mind was empty of all but his hate and his envy when he tossed aside his shield. When he pulled off his gloves so he could _feel it_, feel the man's neck being crushed inside his hands, reason had certainly deserted him.

He took the steps two at a time and when he reached the top, no words were spoken. He lunged. But when his fingers found their target around the Lord Seeker's throat he knew it all felt wrong. Lucius mirrored his action and Cullen felt a claw like grip cutting off his air. The acrid smell of demon assaulted his nostrils and the sick sensation of the Veil being pulled aside made his chest tighten and his gut clench.

He wouldn't remember later that, in the instant before he was pulled into blackness, he thought of Evelyn.

xxxx

She thought of Cullen. She didn't bother to stop herself any more. Or deny she wanted to. Or concoct reasons in her head to justify doing so. She huddled before the camp fire and thought of him. Because it made her feel better. Because it made her feel safe. And because things were going horribly _wrong_.

"I don't think your Knight-Captain likes me very much." Dorian said with a confident swagger, strolling up casually behind her. "It's really quite unbelievable. I'm so charming." He sounded genuinely perplexed.

Evelyn looked up from staring at the flames and watched the mage sit down. She had never known a mage like him. To his dubious credit, she had never know _anyone_ quite like him, but that was beside the point. Excluding herself, she had known exactly one mage who hadn't belonged to a Circle and that was Solas. Solas, however, didn't really count in her book. He was different somehow. An apostate, most definitely, but even with that designation setting him apart from society, he seemed to make it a point to distance himself even further. Not so for Dorian.

Dorian _should_ have made her uncomfortable, with his dark magic, bold and eager at his fingertips. He was arrogant, audacious and unrepentant. She should have been wary, given his origin and his situation. Yet, she found herself trusting him.

He was a mage, but also just a _person_. He wore his magic proudly, like how a king would wear his crown as if it were put there by divine right. He didn't have the look of the hunted or the helpless. He wasn't harried or hiding. His magic wasn't some burdensome shame weighing on his shoulders and he didn't have the chains of Chantry guilt trailing behind him as all mages Evelyn ever knew had. He was simply Dorian, who was simply a mage and Evelyn found that both refreshing and honest.

"He's not 'my' Knight-Captain'." Evelyn replied to his original statement. "I don't think Ser Rylen likes me much either, if it makes you feel better." _And he doesn't even know I'm a mage._

Evelyn could tell she was getting on the very disciplined Templar's last nerve. He was clearly a man who expected his orders to be followed and she really had wanted to follow them, but she also had a responsibility to do what she thought best, which was spare as many lives as possible. If Cullen had told him she would do as she was told and make life easy, then she imagined he was now regretting taking charge here in the Commander's absence.

Ser Rylen had attempted to dissuade her from going to investigate Redcliffe by herself until the very last moment before their departure. And then he had her followed anyway. Instead of sneaking about behind their small party, Scout Harding was nice enough to make her presence known along with the small contingent of the Spymaster's people that Rylen sent to keep a 'secret' eye on the Herald.

Cullen must have threatened him with something, because the man wouldn't let up. After she closed the rifts and made it behind Redcliffe's walls to discover the Tevinter presence within, she went back out through the gates to find that Rylen followed her himself anyway, with the Arl and a small group of Templars and Ferelden soldiers. They were camped just off the main highway, not far from the village.

She hated to admit it, but after the very unnerving meeting with that magister and the subsequent intrigue she found herself drawn into by the man's son and subsequently Dorian, she was grateful to have more people around her to discuss the next steps in this new and dangerous game.

At least, she was grateful at first. Now she was just sick of the arguing again.

Dorian shifted his weight and rested back on his hands, managing to look elegant even while sitting on the ground. He seemed to consider her statement and then said, "Actually, it does make me feel better. The fact that the stodgy Templar doesn't like two such attractive people means there's something wrong with him, not us. Aren't you in charge of him, my dear? Why don't you just order him to better appreciate our greatness?"

Evelyn laughed. It came out as an unexpected but pleasant giggle. She'd laughed so little recently, she'd almost forgotten what it felt like. "I'm not in charge of anything, I'm afraid. I'm just their..." She hesitated to say it and prove Solas right. "...weapon." She relented and waved her gloved hand that still faintly glowed beneath the black leather.

"Yes, such a curious thing, that. I've noticed it makes those Templars twitchy. The poor delicious sods can't seem to decide if they should worship at your feet or smite you. Frankly, I'm jealous. My feet could use a bit of worshiping and I'll admit to considering experimentation with the smiting if they took all that armor off first." He raised a delicately groomed eyebrow suggestively.

It wasn't lost on Evelyn that Rylen had no female Templars in his ranks. Dorian's honesty and pride about that as well made her like him even more. She wondered what his very noble family had to say about his preferences in that regard. Dorian seemed like someone she wouldn't mind commiserating with about disapproving noble families. If they lived to do so.

"Is Ser Rylen finished pacing and mumbling disapprovingly at our plan?" She asked. Earlier, the group of them were discussing how to 'meet' with Magister Alexius without succumbing to whatever trap he had in place. They, and by they she meant everyone but Rylen, had agreed that Leliana's people could slip through the secret passages now that Dorian could instruct them in how to get past any safeguards put in place by the mages. Evelyn would only have to stall the magister under the pretense of discussing terms for an alliance until enough of Alexius' men had been eliminated so that Alexius himself could be taken into custody and turned over to Teagan.

Of the mages she had spoken with, and she had spoken with a great many as was her habit to learn as much as she could, she had determined that none of them seemed happy with the arrangement they made with the magister, least of all Grand Enchanter Fiona herself. Why the fools had made it in the first place then, eluded her.

Evelyn was sure that if Alexius' grip on them could be loosened, the mages would be amenable to conscription into the Inquisition. This was the best possible scenario. The mages would be safe and off the streets but, they would still have their freedom from both the Circles and from the chains of Tevinter servitude. The Templars in the Inquisition ranks would be able to manage any potential dangers posed by them if it came to that.

And there would be no fighting. And no demons.

Evelyn shivered at the thought of just how badly things could turn if their plan was unsuccessful. Such close contact with the massive bulk of the rebel mages together with meeting the disconcerting Alexius, who was essentially a maleficar, was making Evelyn so anxious she wanted to close her eyes against all the magic around her and never open them again. The mark burned into her hand pained her constantly now. Varric had stopped complaining about everything, seeing the stress starting to weigh more heavily on her. Even Solas had given her a much needed and rare respite from their nightly training.

Dorian rose and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry your pretty little head about the disapproving Templar. It will all be just fine." He walked away to find some sleep before they had to venture forth in the morning. Evelyn might have been soothed by his words if he had even remotely sounded like he believed them himself.

She buried down her fears. Solas would have wanted her to face them. But she didn't want to think about Solas right now. So she said a prayer to bless their path on the morrow. And she thought of Cullen.

* * *

A/N: I know. Thinky thinky and not much fighty fighty. I had to poise Cullen for his whole next scene and I had to touch base with Evelyn and poise her for her stuff and then before I knew it I wrote two thousand-ish words and my attention slipped away. But now everyone is set up. Back to Cullen next. Swear. Also, I have to say, the whole Champions of the Just mission made zero sense to me. Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was just hoping to go into Therinfal and find a big ol' Templar orgy going on. Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention to the dialogue or reading enough codex crap, but I totally didn't get the motivations. Which is why I'm tweaking it. At least so it makes sense to me. Hopefully it will make sense to you as well. That's why I needed just a bit more thinky thinky stuff. And I think Evelyn's so effed up in the head she tends to need more time thinking on things than even Cullen. Thanks for reading!


	12. Erudition and Torment

A/N: I'm going to give this chapter a trigger warning for poor Cullen suffering. If you're anything like me, you'll want to turn back, because you want happy fluffy smutty Cullen feels but you won't turn back. You'll read it and feel all the horrible angsty feels and then absolutely hate me for writing it. And then you'll read it again. Because an awful dark part of you (and me) thinks his suffering is sexy. *hides face in shame* In my defense, I've read worse Cullen torture out there. If that's any consolation. Thanks for reading...if you do, in fact, continue to read.

* * *

**_Chapter 12: Erudition and Torment_**

_It's happening again._

Cullen tried not to breath. A hopeless battle, he knew. But if he breathed then this was real. If he breathed, if he moved, if he opened his eyes, then he was giving in and accepting that this was _happening again_.

He breathed.

The stale non-air that entered his lungs smelled of death and dying. He opened his eyes, reluctantly fighting against the lead weights of disbelief trying to keep them shut.

He moved.

At least that was different. When trapped in a demon's nightmare so many years ago, that seemed like only yesterday now that he was here once again, he hadn't moved an inch. He knelt and he prayed and he struggled in self-imposed stillness; an iron wall of armor and faith, immovable and anchored against the push and pull of temptation. Strong, and yet passive. Passively suffering, passively enduring.

Not this time.

This time, he has aged. He's had years to know himself and know his fears and he's admitted to every one of them. He owns them now in a way he did not when he was young. He owns every selfish desire, every foolish bit of pride, every perverted hunger and all the silent rage. What can be done to him now that hasn't already been done? What can _this_ demon show him that he hasn't already seen?

He moved forward in the darkness, feeling a cloying mist and the drifting of ash against his face and hands. After only a few heavy steps he saw the faint light of something an unknown distance ahead of him. He walked towards it resolutely, feeling no less lonely and afraid than he had in his youth, but this time, at least it wasn't his own fear he was afraid of.

The darkness slowly lifted as he walked, becoming an otherworldly glow. He weaved around the shapes of blackened, burning bodies frozen by fire into statues of agony. He kept moving, more quickly now, lest he recognize one of them. Because of course they would be people he knew. Why else would a demon place them in his path?

When that path finally came to an end, he was forced to recognize the person who stood before him. Not burnt, not dead, not distant, but alive and present and _real. _So real it brought an ache to his heart and it settled in next to the terror of knowing the torture had begun.

Evelyn spoke with her own voice, but it was different somehow. Darker, less innocent. As were her eyes different, looking up at him not with her hopeful vigilance but with hollow emptiness.

"You've done this before, haven't you, _Commander?"_ She purred his title in a way that didn't belong to the Evelyn he knew, but he listened anyway and he stepped closer. "But you were a prize that was never won." She matched his step forward. "Desire could not claim you all those years ago. You're stronger than that, aren't you? Desires are such shallow, fleeting things, after all."

Evelyn, who wasn't his Evelyn, raised a fine and fragile hand up to rest on his breastplate. _This demon isn't 'your' Evelyn. _Evelyn_ isn't 'your' Evelyn here or anywhere else._

The thing that wasn't Evelyn continued to speak. "_I_ am _not_ Desire. Desire could not know you the way I can know you." And then something changed. Evelyn's expression was suddenly familiar now, the way it should be. The way he found himself thinking about too much and too often. Softer, more tender.

A large and shadowy figure emerged from the darkness behind her. It was the shape of a man. The shape he saw in the mirror. Cullen's doppelganger now took up the one sided conversation. "Is her shape useful?" It was his voice. Serious and direct. "Will it help me know you better? Will _this_ help me know you better? Watch."

Cullen watched as the stranger that bore his face drew his sword. His old sword. His Templar sword. Cullen lifted his hand, possessed of a sudden hopeless urgency to try and prevent what he knew was going to happen.

"Wait_...stop_..." The words dissolved in the mist as soon as they left his mouth. He wondered why he even tried to speak them. The demon plunged the sword through Evelyn's chest.

_Had he dreamt this once before?_

The body of Evelyn crumpled at the demon's feet. Cullen forced himself to breathe even breaths, to blink the dryness from his eyes, to swallow down the bile rising into his throat. If he could have forced himself to not hear the demon's laughter he would have.

"Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker." The demon wearing his face circled him. Cullen fixed his eyes forward, trying not to look at it and trying not to look at Evelyn on the ground. "Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You'll see. Glory is coming. The Elder one will ascend. We will serve him. I will wear your face and we will lead the armies of the _faithful_. I know that's what you want. To be whole again. To find purpose. To find faith. Envying those things you see in others."

The thing had come around to whisper in his ear. "You know nothing, Demon." Cullen finally found the words to speak again, though he wished they had sounded louder, more sure.

"Are you certain?" The demon circled and turned to face him, eyes of a level, his own eyes. "Shall we find out? For I_ am _Envy. And I _will_ know you."

Cullen didn't move. He couldn't move. He couldn't defend or back away, when Envy ran him through with his own sword. He fell to his knees, unable to hold in the cry of pain that escaped him. He fell forward, his head hitting hard with a dull thud on the ground, his eyes now meeting Evelyn's where her lifeless body lay beside him. He tasted blood in his mouth and it hurt too much to draw breath. His vision blurred and darkened and he selfishly hoped her peaceful face and gently closed eyes, as if she was asleep, would be the last thing he saw. But he knew the Maker wasn't so kind.

Just as blackness was about to take him, Evelyn's lifeless eyes shot open illuminated a sickly green. When unconsciousness did finally close in, it wasn't before he heard her speak words from the chant, twisted and corrupted by the demon's voice coming from her lips.

_"The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil and grew jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born."_

_..._

Unfortunately, blessed oblivion was not to be his for long. Nearly as soon as his eyes fell shut, they opened again. He stood, wearing his old armor. He looked down at his chest but there was only a flaming sword emblazoned there and no wound, though the pain of it remained. He clutched his hands on his breastplate, wincing against an involuntary breath, the exhale of it passing in a whimper across his lips.

He was in a room filled with Templars all holding vials of lyrium. Surrounded by his brothers, he felt safe. Simply having the lyrium nearby made him feel powerful. It was easy and familiar and comfortable and _exactly what he wanted. _But when he saw his hand reach out, it wasn't his hand, it was Envy's. Envy's fingers inside Ser Cullen's glove wrapped around the philter offered him by a Templar in a helm, just another faceless soldier of the Chantry, as he was, perhaps as he should still be.

Envy's lips parted in eager anticipation of the cool liquid. But it wasn't only Envy,_ it was still him inside_. He couldn't let this happen. This was only a dream, only a hallucination, he knew, but even so, he couldn't bear _tasting it again._ He wanted it too badly, the safety and the power and the comfort. It was everything these other men still had. These random, nameless automatons had it but he had given it all up, cast aside in a moment of prideful ignorance, thinking he was smarter than them, stronger than them. _But he wasn't_.

_Please. Please don't do this. _

He pleaded with himself. He pleaded with the demon. _Please!_ He needed it too much, it would be too hard to go back, if he ever made it back, and deny himself again when this was _all he wanted_.

_Please, no, please, Maker, no. O Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked..._

But it seemed neither Makers nor Demons listened to prayers. It was only after it touched his lips did he notice it was red. This time when the horrors of the nightmare faded around him, instead of his vision going black it was washed in crimson.

...

When he opened his eyes for the third time, not only could he still taste it, but he felt it inside him and he heard it. A terrible and dissonant song ringing in his ears, splitting his head with pain. Envy seemed untroubled by it and Cullen watched from within as the demon moved his body through a montage of destruction. He saw fighting and war, ruination and strife. He saw himself commanding an army, with banners bearing the eye of the Inquisition and flaming sword of the Order together. He led the Red Templars. He was one of them.

Again he served, but no longer did he serve Andraste or even her Herald. He served a distant and ancient evil whose name he did not know but it was in the name of that which was still nameless that he laid waste to everything he had thought he held dear.

The mad flight of scenes that played out before him suddenly stopped and he found himself in a dungeon. This time Envy was not moving for him. He still wore his Templar armor and he rolled his tongue around the taste of the lyrium still in his mouth. It made him want to weep; weep for how _fucking_ good it was and how _right_ it felt and how much he _hated_ it.

He took a few hesitant, leaden steps forward. He could hear arguing coming from an alcove that held a large cell. He didn't want to keep going. Why had it seemed like such a good idea to _move_? Could he just kneel down right here and close his eyes against it all? Praying and denying and waiting for the end to come? There was no guarantee he would be rescued this time. Did he even want to be? Rescue would not free him from _who he was_.

He _was_ this person. He knew. Envy _knew_. He was vile and weak and he _wanted_ the world to _burn_.

But he recognized one of the voices. So he went to it. In the dim light of a single torch burning with Veilfire he saw a Red Templar shouting at Sister Leliana who looked weak and beaten and yet still defiant behind the metal bars of her prison.

"The Knight-Commander has questions, Nightingale." The Templar said.

"Is it my turn to be branded a traitor for questioning what we've become?" Leliana spit out, venom on her tongue, sharp and bitter. "I deserve it for letting him turn the Inquisition into a butcher's pit." And then she turned her spiteful, sunken eyes to Cullen. "_I should have never let her trust you!_"

He turned away from the scene, like the coward he was, head hung, eyes low, Leliana still spewing hate at him as he left. When he lifted his gaze, he saw Cassandra. Not imprisoned, but not herself. She smiled at him, and it was an awful thing. Envy spoke through her. "Betrayed allies will curse your name. Like the first Inquisition, you will bring blood and ruin and fear."

He walked passed the Seeker, each step a singular torment. He tried not to see the captives, filling prison cell after prison cell. Yet he couldn't help staring when he saw Josephine, half-dead and silent. He couldn't look away when the Revered Mother Giselle was led to the gallows. He tried vehemently to deny the sight when he saw her...he saw _her_. In a large open room, she lay on a table before him, limp and bloodied. Alive but not long for the world. She still wore the wound of Envy's sword thrust in her chest. She looked so small and helpless and his last shred of sanity almost broke when he heard her whispering the chant.

_"O Maker, hear my cry: Seat me by Your side in death. Make me one within Your glory and let the world once more see Your favor. For You are the fire at the heart of the world and comfort is only Yours to give."_

It was so soft, so low and so mournful he found his throat went dry at the sound of her and his heart fractured at the magnitude of her unwavering faith. He reached out to her, needing to do something, anything to soothe her pain, to make this right, to correct his wrongs. He stripped away his gauntlet, to take her hand in his, but he found it wasn't there. Her hand, the hand with the mark, the hand she tried to carefully keep hidden was gone. Severed. Taken from her. The mark was taken from her.

He recoiled when his fingers contacted the bloody stump, but when he pulled his hand back he saw he now held the marked appendage, cold and dead, separated from its body that was not far from joining it, but still pulsing with green light. He thought he heard himself screaming, but he was snatched away too quickly this time, the world dissolving in a sea of green.

...

He refused to open his eyes. He finally did fall to his knees, coughing and vomiting up the lyrium along with the wretched feeling of foreboding that had settled in his gut. Could this happen? Was he this far gone? Would he never know peace again? Was every moment to be consumed with misery? He had tried so hard to make it not so, but he found his will to continue was rapidly deteriorating. He thought he had buried it all deep enough, hidden it well enough, but he hadn't. What he thought were only tender scars were actually still open wounds, fresh and frighteningly exposed.

He stood, eyes persistently shut tight. Even if he opened them he would still be lost, wandering this desolate corner of the Fade shaped by Envy and the consequences of his own terrible deeds. There had to be a way out. He could not, would not, suffer this torment one moment longer. Anything, anywhere was preferable to this. He almost wished Desire would come for him with the simple tortures of youth. A pretty face, a wanton smile, a warm cunt to bury himself in. He didn't care that it wasn't real. None of this was real. Nothing was real. Because if cruelty like this could be real, he would have nothing more to do with this world.

Cullen unsheathed his sword. He wouldn't know if he really would have fallen on it. Because in that final naked moment of suffering, he heard another voice. A different one. Not Envy, not Evelyn, not anyone familiar to him.

"Wait! Please, stop!" The disembodied voice pleaded. "Open your eyes. Please, I can help, if you'll let me."

Compelled for reasons unknown to him, Cullen opened his eyes. He found himself in a comfortable room facing a boy hidden behind a hat too large for his waif-like frame. Cullen opened his mouth, his lips dry and cracking with the motion, the scar above his lip tugging with its too tight skin. The taste of the lyrium was gone from his mouth, the heavy burden in his heart slightly lessened. Confusion filled him, but instead of chaos, he felt calm.

"Does that feel better?" The boy asked him, and then by way of introduction he smiled and said, "I'm Cole."

* * *

A/N part 2: I really hope that made sense. I don't use a beta so I have only myself to blame if it didn't. Like I said, Champions of the Just made no sense to me when I played so I was trying to make it more clear and of course more suited to Cullen, while still being all dark and demony. I have a start on the next chapter and it will continue straight on with Cullen's plight. I'm still trying to wrap my head around Evelyn's mission. I love her, but she's harder for me to write. Probably because I really just want to live inside Cullen's head.


	13. Trust and Tribulation

**_Chapter 13: Trust and Tribulation_**

Half crazed with torment, mind wild with suffering, sword poised in an attempt to take his own life, _futile though he knew it would be in this false reality_, Cullen thought his soul must truly be the most depraved in existence if now _two_ demons were fighting over it.

With a deep sigh, he dropped his sword and spit the last lingering taste of lyrium from his mouth. He did both things reluctantly. Weary now, but resolved to endure, _what choice did he have anyway_, he rose and stretched before forcing himself to pick up his sword again. _Why bother? What are you going to kill with it here that won't just come back for another round? _But Cullen was nothing if not dogged.

He couldn't even begin to say how long he'd been in this purgatory. Less than an hour or an hour past forever, it didn't matter. He was exhausted but, now he had to find out what fresh hell this new demon had on offer.

He looked at the slight form of the boy in front of him, perched on a piece of furniture. He thought the ragged looking 'person' felt decidedly odd. Cullen had known demons, _Maker had he known demons_, of more types and more intimately than anyone who wasn't a maleficar had a right to, even a battle worn Templar. This thing that introduced itself as 'Cole' did not feel like a demon.

Envy was a proper demon. Envy had made the lyrium left in Cullen's blood burn with righteous indignation, the Templar inside him needing to lash out at it with everything in his being, even as the man inside him struggled to stay sane against the onslaught of temptation. But this boy barely registered as a threat at all. Other than feeling the sick memory of Envy's tortures, his Templar senses were hardly even tingling. Perhaps it was a special talent of this demon to seem innocent; to usurp another's prey by offering solace before pain.

"Make your true form known, demon, and have done with it. I was busy enough with your brother in my head, I'm afraid there isn't room for any more of you just now."

Cole's eyes went wide. "You know we're in your head?" He asked sounding as if he was confused.

"I know I'd like nothing more than to shove this sword up your arse, demon, but it's looking as if you're just wasting my time, so I'm better off going to find Envy again so I can try to escape this damnable cesspool." Cullen wasn't sure when he'd decided to rally his will and attempt to break free, but there it was. He felt..._better_ about his chances of escaping and not just enduring now for some reason, and it was almost a comfort.

The boy jumped down and stepped towards him. Cullen backed away and held out his sword. Rather than an attack, however, he was confronted with another absurd question. "Do you really think the inside of your _mind_ is a cesspool?" Though Cullen didn't answer, the demon felt the need to comment anyway. "That's..._sad_."

Cullen rolled his eyes and turned his back on the curious demon. He started searching for a way out of the room.

"Wait! You must be feeling better. I can tell. You're feeling better. I helped." Cole was trotting around behind him annoyingly now as he combed the large room for an exit. "Light in the dark. Soft words, soft curves. Sweeter song than the lyrium. Softly snuffed out."

Cullen stopped and turned. He had only been half listening, but that last part...something about that last part... He steeled himself and stared Cole down. "Do not presume to know my thoughts demon."

"I'm not a demon!" The boy held his hands up in defense, sounding more emphatic now in his denial. "I felt you suffering, I reached out, then in and now I'm here. We're here. Inside your head. But I can help us get out. You can defeat Envy. Spread thin. Wearing too many faces."

"Envy is never satisfied with a single face for long." Cullen mused as he studied Cole more closely now, reaching out with every instinct he could draw on.

"You must continue to walk this path. The light endures even as the dark closes in. Envy will crumble. You worry. You fear. But you needn't. You won't become this. You won't hurt her. She's _special_. You _feel_ it." A pause then and a curious tilt of his head. "Who is she? In your thoughts, she's beautiful. Bright against the blackness. Banishing the shadows."

Cullen sheathed his sword. He felt it now. This comfort, this solace that had so quickly come over him had a source. And it was this strange boy standing before him who echoed his thoughts, using them not to torment, but to soothe. He felt it in his weary bones and his aching soul. He had no idea why or how he knew, but he knew this was no demon. "She is beautiful." He said as a quiet confession, trying to push the vision far enough back in his mind as to conceal further thought on it, thoughts he wasn't yet prepared to confess, from being discovered and spoken back to him. "But that has nothing to do with this. _What are you_?" He demanded pointedly, but the query had lost his previous bite.

"What I _was_ is not what I _am_. Or what I _want to be_. But none of those things matter unless we can leave here."

"How did you come to be_...here_?" Cullen asked, though he thought he probably should have specified 'here' as being in Therinfal with the Templars, not 'here' in his head.

Fortunately Cole took his meaning. "I came to help the Templars. Lost. Falling hopes and falling faith. Such suffering. Blinding them to the demon they followed. So many of them. I heard them. But I was too late for most. And then I heard you. Different. Climbing where the others fell. I knew I could help you."

Of all the bad decisions he had made in his life, allying with this being of dubious origins was going to be the worst. He hoped he lived long enough to regret it. "Fine." He huffed, hardly believing what he was saying. "Let's go."

xxxx

_What is happening?_

Evelyn stared wide eyed at the dead Venatori half-submerged in the rancid water at her feet. Blood seeped into the murky pool, spreading outward. She hastily stepped away from it as if physically coming into contact with anything else would make whatever nightmare this was surrounding them more real.

Venatori. It wasn't so long ago that she would have said the most dangerous thing in her life was herself. Then, in quick succession, the dangers had compiled. Rebel mages and rouge Templars. Rifts and demons. Magisters and Venatori.

Dorian had done most of the work of killing the men who attacked them when they appeared in this dungeon, but Evelyn was still breathing heavily and her heart was pounding so loudly she thought she could hear it in her head. She barely heard anything else now, as she gazed, slack jawed at the all too real corpse gazing back up at her with dead eyes.

Dorian was speaking. She looked up to see his mouth moving and his hands gesticulating emphatically. His words were thick and muffled in her ears, as if listening to him from under water. He went on and on with suppositions and explanations for the predicament they found themselves in, but she didn't want to hear any of it. None of this needed qualification. It was magic. It was always magic that caused problems.

_Fucking magic. Fucking mages. _She swore in her head, uncharacteristic for her.

At least, she thought it was only in her head, until Dorian stopped talking abruptly. "Now, now." He said firmly. "Before you start sounding like your dear Knight-Captain, especially difficult since you lack that deliciously rustic brogue of his, you'll do well to recall that it was a 'fucking mage' who just saved your life."

She closed her eyes against her fear that was rapidly spiraling out of control. She took a deep breath but it was shakier and less calming than she'd hoped. "I'm so sorry, Dorian" she said quietly. "I didn't mean...I just...I'm sorry..." She hadn't meant it. She didn't want to mean it. _For Maker's sake_, she was damning herself along with him.

"Please, forgive me." She gathered her wits and started again, but the tremble in her voice was beyond what she could control. "I was thinking only of Alexius." _No, you weren't._ "I'm grateful to you for acting so quickly to counter his spell."

"Yes, well, I will give you that." Dorian said as he started searching the bodies. "Alexius is a 'fucking mage' of the first order now, isn't he?"

Evelyn was still frozen in place, her daggers clutched in her hands. How many lives must be taken away from her before the Maker saw fit to finally end her entirely? She had once been an innocent girl with nothing more complicated than marriage and children ahead of her. But her magic appeared and after that she was a Chantry novice with a dark secret whose only goal was maintaining silence above all things. And then that world shattered too, leaving her alone and blessed, _cursed_, with a strange new worldly purpose. That life, however, had now crumbled even before she had grown into it. Now she stood in a future, _had been pulled unwillingly into a future, _not of her shaping. Though perhaps she had been fooling herself all along that she had any ability to shape her life at all. She was nothing but a piece of flotsam, drifting on the ocean of chaos that was this world.

And more than anything,_ that_ was what made her most afraid. That she ultimately had no control. No amount of hard work, sacrifice, planning or dedication would steer her down the right path. It was all useless, and now she stood in a world that just seemed _wrong_. All wrong. It felt wrong. It smelled wrong. The air tasted wrong. This place was thick with magic. Almost stronger than in the Fade when she was with Solas, but this magic was_ foul_.

_Solas._

He had known. And now she knew too. He had provided her first taste of this helpless fear and now she was living it in earnest. She should have listened. But what good would that have done? Not prevented anything. Not fixed anything. She felt just as powerless now as she had when the elf had her in the grip of his fabricated horror. This time, sadly, it was real and there was no way out.

No way out.

Her breaths were catching in her chest and it felt_ tight_. The stone walls surrounding them blurred and wavered in front of her eyes. Her head spun. Her mouth was dry. Her fingers couldn't hold onto her weapons any longer and they splashed down into the water. She felt stifled and trapped and then she heard them.

_Whispers._

_Promises._

Soft at first and _sick_. Hearing them made her feel sick inside. Sick with want and need. They whispered comfort and promised solutions. Different voices pushing through and vying for attention. They made her magic _tingle..._

_"Stop!"_ She shouted suddenly, clapping her hands against her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. She clamped down hard on the magic within her. "O Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked..."

She wouldn't find out if she just would have stayed there forever, paralyzed with fear, demons trying to break her down, trapped in a false future, because Dorian saved her again. This time, not with magic.

He came to stand before her and gently pulled her hands into his. "Hey." He said calmly, repeating himself until she stopped her frantic chanting and gave him her attention. "I don't know about you, my dear, but 'drab' simply isn't my color, and I'm finding this place to be decidedly drab. So we're going to march our vibrant selves out of this dismal prison and find our way back to _when_ we're supposed to be. Yes? Yes. Come along now. Don't worry. I'm here. I'll protect you."

Of all people, Evelyn found reassurance and sincerity in the eyes of a necromancer from Tevinter. She exhaled slowly and reclaimed her control. She doubted it was the mastery of her fears that Solas envisioned for her, but she thought her mentor could hardly complain about the source of her assistance. After all, it wasn't a Templar.

"Dorian, I apologize again. I don't know what came over me. Thank you for..._thank you_." She said with genuine gratitude.

"Perfectly alright." The mage said, managing to look determined and disinterested simultaneously. "If there's one thing I'm learning is that you Southerners tend to get quite emotional when confronted with even small magics, let alone the very large powers I wield. You lot simply haven't been exposed enough. Fear not, darling girl, one night with me, and you'll never go back." He gave her a saucy wink and she couldn't help but smile a little. He turned his back to her and started walking, urging her to follow with an elegant wave of his arm. "I'll have you so comfortable with magic, you'll wish you were a mage yourself."

"I...um...yes. Of course." She muttered, her smile disappearing as she followed.

* * *

_A/N: So, Cullen in Therinfal and Evelyn in Redcliffe are kind of involved in that I'm spending a lot of chapters on these particular missions because I feel they're important to the characters as I'm trying to interpret them here. If it's any consolation, with the exception of the Winter Palace (because, come on, I'm a girl and I want to write a damn ball), I don't think I'm planning to do any more retellings of missions per say. I'm planning on bringing Hawke in later on, but in a storyline that has only a passing glance at the whole Adamant thing. So, um, okay. Thanks for listening to my ramblings as usual and thanks for reading the story! Oh, also, whenever I see the word 'tribulation', I think of tribbles. Is that just me? :)_


	14. Rage and Victory

**_Chapter 14: Rage and Victory_**

Cullen stepped steadily, now seemingly filled with a purpose other than to just survive. He felt bolstered. He felt as if the boy, _spirit, demon_, was navigating him through his nightmare better than he had done alone. That fact didn't exactly make him feel better, but he did feel more like himself, if he dared to admit what that was nowadays. Was he a battle hardened Templar standing vigil for Andraste? A jaded soldier making amends for past weakness? Or just a man, who had somehow gotten lost and was trying to find his path again?

Cole was no longer following him but his presence was tickling just at the edge of Cullen's senses. Once or twice, he almost forgot he was there, but then he caught sight of the strange lanky figure out of the corner of his eye and he remembered sharply, doubting his trust all over again and then calming and relenting knowing that needs must.

Cullen was now back at Therinfal. He marched his way through the redoubt all over again, from the storm drain he originally started in, up through each level, weaving inside and outside. The sky was dark and turbulent. He felt the rents in the Veil as if they were real and right on top of him. A battle was raging all around, but he wasn't engaged in it, forced to be an onlooker only and unable to intervene. The fighting was no longer between Templar factions. There were Red Templars, yes, as well as battle mages in armor fighting alongside them but the heraldry the mages wore was a twisting beast, more serpent than dragon.

The Reds and the mages were locked in combat with a strange conglomeration of opposing forces. There were Fereldans, Orlesians and what Cullen thought were Grey Wardens but there seemed to be men and women in griffon marked armor fighting on both sides. Over the din of weapons clashing and the wails of those injured and dying, he heard brief snippets of shouted conversations or despondent pleas. He was able to piece together enough to learn the dire state the world would be in if Envy and his 'Elder One' had their way.

Yet even with the images of Thedas burning around him, knowledge of dead rulers and fallen empires, the only image that still tore at his heart was that of a severed hand marked with magic and dying lips reciting the Chant.

That Cullen could not be moved by the deaths of thousands or the world crumbling to ruin, but somehow found himself fighting back horror and despair at the loss of one woman? It was...not something her could afford to think on any longer.

There was no time to be wasting energy or emotions on distinctions and misplaced priorities. Because _none of this_ could not be allowed to happen.

_This isn't going to happen. You won't let it happen._

He repeated those words over and over in his head with a reverence he thought he had lost somewhere in his past. He repeated them until he believed them. _He hoped he could believe them_. He climbed up and up, in search of a way out of his own envy-tainted nightmare.

Cullen waded through the carnage, growing more and more fevered with each step, with each passing moment. Anger had given way to fear which was now giving way to disgust. When he saw a dark image of himself standing atop the long staircase where he first attacked the Lord Seeker, he felt everything he had in that moment all over again.

He must be the one to snuff this demon out. With his bare hands or the force of his will alone, he needed to do this, to make something _right, _at least in some small part of the world or some small part of his own head. He needed something to be_ right._

He dropped his weapons and his gauntlets on ground and ran, charging at his corrupted self and finally feeling the satisfaction in his fingertips of _attacking. _He wasn't sure if he was shouting, or if it was the demon, or if it was both of them using the same voice, but that shouting rapidly became thin, strained and desperate and Cullen thought he could feel his own lungs screaming for air even as he tried to strangle the demon wearing his skin.

Cullen grew dizzy, but it only made him tighten his grip. His vision grew hazy but he blinked it away. His heartbeat grew frantic and he felt it skipping beats in his chest. Then he heard Cole's voice somewhere above them, clear and encouraging.

"We're nearly free. Failure, false paths dissolving, disappearing. _It's frightened of you_."

Cullen smiled darkly and rumbled out low, his words cutting through the din around them. "_It should be."_

Those words were the last Cullen would speak in Envy's corner of the Fade. No sooner had he said them than a vicious pain ripped through his chest and he was knocked backward off his feet. When he landed, the world around him spun and he struggled on the ground for a moment not sure how to make himself stand upright. When his vision settled, he stilled and took a deep breath. The sky was bright and not yet completely broken. He looked down at himself and found he no longer wore his old Templar armor. When he looked up he was surrounded by people. Cassandra was crouched right next to him, sword and shield in hand but not knowing where to point them. She looked to him, then her eyes darted to a thick black dense cloud that hovered in the air in front of them. It stayed for an instant before disappearing away, shooting through a large set of heavy double doors and through a sprawling hall, only to disappear from sight.

Cullen was back in the real world and Envy was manifest and vulnerable.

_It's not over yet._

He jumped up like a man possessed. Though 'possessed' was possibly not the best comparison, considering he'd just been pulled into the Fade by a demon while a Seeker of Truth and half the Templar Order looked on. But he didn't care if they were suspicious he might have been corrupted. He had a job to do. He had a demon to kill.

He ran into the hall only to find a magical barrier blocking his path. He closed his eyes and focused, pulling on his long unused abilities. He wasn't sure if it made him feel victorious or defeated when he found they were still there inside, waiting. He felt the edges of the magic erected in front of him and he reached out with everything he had, using his power as if he had never stopped. It felt right. _He_ felt right again. His blood sang with a singular duty, even as his mind shouted that this wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to bury this part of him in the past, not indulge in it. Guilt and doubt flooded him, yet he kept at it, not wanting to break away or let go of something that had defined him his whole life.

He felt bits of the barricade start to disintegrate beneath the invisible touch of his Templar skill, but it was taking too long and his effort was too great. This was the consequence of his abstinence. Never escaping, but never feeling complete. He would be cursed forever with these powers inside him, but without lyrium they would never be what they were meant to be.

_He would never be who he was meant to be._

_Who was he meant to be?_

He sensed others come up to stand next to him. The Templars who fought with them lined up beside him and once again followed suit. He caught glimpses, flashes of blue and he knew they were using lyrium. Of course they were. They needed to. There was magic to be dispelled and a demon to smite. And these were Templars.

He was a Templar. But he wasn't. Not any longer. Did he want to be again? Pay the price, take the lyrium, win the battle? He couldn't bear to lose one more battle. He wanted it so badly. He wanted the lyrium and the power so badly. But he _so badly_ wanted to escape from it and its chains.

_You wanted a new life. Now at the first temptation you falter? Are you so weak?_

The first temptation? It seemed like every second of every day that passed held nothing but temptation for him.

When the barrier finally fell against the collected Templar onslaught he almost didn't realize it, so consumed was he by his inner conflict. The Maker he thought had abandoned him, however, saw fit to grant him a small mercy, for he was jolted from his silent struggle when he heard Cassandra yelling behind him.

"Go! Quickly! We must kill it!" On the heels of her shouts came the unwanted sounds of Fade beasts materializing all around. If Envy could not hide behind magic it seemed determined to hide behind a hoard of lesser demons.

Without even thinking, Cullen barked out orders and the Templars scrambled to follow, clearing a path for them through their enemies. He and Cassandra charged through in pursuit of Envy. They found it in a courtyard, having shed the face of the Lord Seeker and appearing in its native and monstrous form.

Cullen almost had another crisis of faith as he wondered how it would be possible to slay such a thing when he was but a mere shadow of his former self.

"You don't need it!" Cassandra scolded him, roughly, impatiently, somehow seeing his thoughts. At the same time he felt an arrow fly past his ear and then the elven form of Sera ran by him to reposition herself on a ledge for another shot. Her arrow landed true and the demon wailed. The sound was enough to stir Cullen into action. It was blind action, full of aggression. He raged and he launched a wild, full frontal assault.

He fought with sword and shield and muscle and bone and without worrying on the implications or consequences he used what powers were left to him with whatever lyrium lingered in his blood but no more than that. It brought him strength enough to replace the doubt in his soul, if he even still had a soul.

The battle wore on and on as they wore the demon down. With each blow that fell and each arrow that flew he was putting his team more and more at risk with his crazed attacks. He wasn't coordinating with them, he wasn't minding then, he wasn't hearing them. He was waging his own war against more than just Envy. He swung and swung and battered and beat at the thing, his ears ringing and his mind blurred and black.

Suddenly, he felt himself being forcefully restrained, pulled backwards, away from a bubbling smoking ruined demon corpse still spurting blood and ichor. People were shouting at him now and the words slowly became clear. 'It's dead' and 'Stop' and 'Enough'. 'Stand down' and 'Back away'. He had killed the demon, and hadn't noticed, madly continuing to decimate its remains.

When he finally relaxed his body, he lowered his sword and stood still. Cassandra, Barris and Sera were all staring at him. The Templars had finished off the rest of the demons. Those of the Order who had been poisoned by the Red Lyrium were either dead or had run off by now. Those men and women who remained were all now staring at him with the unmistakable look of fear in their eyes. Fear of him, fear of their fate, fear of the unknown, all fears he shared and the reflection of them in their faces made him hate them. He hated them and he hated their lyrium. And he hated himself for blaming these men who had been just as victimized as him. But who was he to blame then? The Chantry for enslaving them? It barely existed anymore without a Divine. The Maker? For what? For everything?

Everyone was looking to him, but he didn't trust himself to speak. Finally, Cassandra filled the silence with practical concerns. "We must leave this place. It is..._polluted_." She sneered at the word. She was right. The Veil was perilously thin here. They had to go and go quickly. They had to get everyone out and far away from the lingering seduction of the red lyrium if any of them were to be saved.

_If any even deserved to be saved._

If this was what victory was supposed to feel like, Cullen would just as soon forfeit.

Barris approached him now, clearly shaken, clearly hesitant and clearly speaking for all of his brethren. "Commander...we..."

"_You_ can consider yourselves conscripted." Cullen felt what was left of his heart harden just a bit more at his own callousness and misplaced contempt. "Take control of your men _Knight-Captain_." He said coldly. "Welcome to the Inquisition."


	15. Whispers and Suffering

**_Chapter 15: Whispers and Suffering_**

Evelyn looked down and all she saw was blood. It covered her daggers and dripped down past the hilts. The grips were sticky with it and her hands were colored entirely red, almost concealing the mark. Some of it was hers, but more of it was their enemies'. True to his word, Dorian kept her protected from the dark forces they faced, mostly by using his own darkness.

She recognized some of his magic right away as the horror Solas had given her a taste of in the Fade. But where Evelyn knew Solas had held back, she could feel the deadly intensity of Dorian's spells almost clawing at her own psyche despite being directed elsewhere. The man was every bit as lethal as she was ever led to believe a mage could be, but he never looked like he wasn't in control.

He was calm even in this nightmare; this future that must never come to pass and yet had. It did help to have his self-assuredness as a companion in this place, but not enough to deny that her father, ultimately, had been right.

She stared blankly at the blood on her hands. "The world has fallen to ruin." Words soft, voice cracking. "Because of me."

Dorian finished cleaning gore from the blade on his staff and looked up. "If we've learned anything so far, it is that the world fell to ruin because _you_ weren't in it, my dear. Something, I assure you, we will remedy in short order."

She wasn't about to call her only life line a liar, but her hope was rapidly depleting the deeper they wandered inside this corrupted castle. They found no aid and no respite, only more enemies and more doomed souls.

Grand Enchanter Fiona had been beyond their help. Evelyn wished they hadn't found her at all. The last thing she wanted was to hear details about the end of days, but Dorian was determined to learn all he could. For the first time in her life she found herself wanting to know less not more. She let Dorian ask the questions, while she concentrated on ignoring the whispers and stifling her magic.

Fiona's despair had been palpable and the _lyrium_...pulsed horrible and _red_. The color was everywhere in this world. Even Dorian's easy confidence had seemed momentarily shaken by the ghastly sight of the stuff mingled intimately with the elf's body. Evelyn walked away from their encounter with the dying leader of the rebel mages feeling as though the red lyrium clung to her own skin.

She continued staring down at her hands. She was weary and chilled to her bones and through them the cold traveled down to her soul. It was the chill of a night that would never end. No sun would rise, no ice would melt, no comfort would be found and the Maker would never turn his gaze upon the world of men again.

She shivered as the fresh blood coating her dried and grew cold as well. Even the frozen lake near Haven felt warmer than this place and she found herself wishing she was back there. Back there, under the blue moonlight where no red was to be found. Back there, next to the heat of a Templar standing beside her. Heat and calm and _silence_. Blessed silence.

Solas was right about this as well. He was so right. She needed _him_. Cullen. Wanted him. An anchor in a storm. Something familiar but also new. If that made her weak, then she was weak. If he hated magic, then he hated it. So did she. So had she always. She hated the ache of it inside her and the worry that came with it. She hated the shame of it and the _Maker Damned Whispering!_

Why was it so loud here? So constant? She wondered how Dorian could bear it. Was there no Veil at all in this world? No barrier keeping the demons in check? Without thinking she brought her bloodied hands up to rub at her temples trying to massage the sounds out of her head, but of course the temptations only grew louder.

Sometimes they even sounded like her father.

_You're not strong enough for this. Everything around you has broken and so will you break. _

Dorian spoke to her from across the room. She saw his lips move, but she was having trouble hearing his words above the din of whispered torments. She thought he asked which direction they should proceed. He walked around examining the corridors.

_You can't trust him. He's just another maleficar from Tevinter. It was a maleficar that brought you here, that brought this upon the world._

Dorian came back around and asked for her opinion. She didn't answer, her mind still processing _all the blood_.

_You know there is only one way forward. Take it back. Take the world back. Restore it to order. Fight the blood magic in kind. We can help..._

Her fingers felt like they were drenched in death. Her magic _hurt_ like an old wound that kept breaking open. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. All she allowed herself was a resigned whimper before marching forward, choosing a direction at random and not bothering to see if Dorian followed.

They moved on together, not speaking for the most part, only killing and wandering. After Fiona, she should have known they would find more than just abominations. When they found Varric, she started praying. He was not as bad off, but still, he was _changed_.

When they found Solas, the tears almost fell. He didn't even look at her, this Solas. He looked beyond her as if she was naught but a child too lowly and dumb to speak to. Instead he conversed urgently with Dorian about their situation, bitter impatience lacing his every word. She prayed harder.

They found Teagan, too mad and broken to free. They left him and she did weep, but she didn't let them see.

Rylen was next, on his knees and chanting fervently. His lilting voice, which was once rounded and soft, was now hard with brittle edges.

She pleaded, begged, so far beyond simple prayer as to challenge Andraste herself in her devotion. _Let this be all. Please. Show me no more_. If the rest were dead let them be dead. This slow parade of the suffering left in the wake of her failures was too much to bear. These people had called her Herald, thinking her a prelude to better days than they had been living, but all she brought them was this madness, infinitely worse, almost as if she had shoved the world into the Void herself.

_Where the Maker has turned His face away, is a Void in all things. Passing out of the world, in that Void shall they wander; O unrepentant, faithless, treacherous, they who are judged and found wanting shall know forever the loss of the Maker's love._

Loss. Crushing loss. Josephine was already dead when they came upon her, and had been for some time. Those they freed didn't flinch at the sight. What was one more lifeless body to them among thousands? They simply followed behind her and Dorian. Varric was silent. Rylen was angry. Solas was as intense in his need to reverse these events as Dorian.

Evelyn was useless. _Better useless, than detrimental_, she thought. And she was exhausted. She'd never had to try _so hard _to focus, to stay true, to simply keep from faltering_. _She wished the demons would just take her.

When they found Leliana, Evelyn was sure the woman wished the same thing. With hate-filled hollow eyes, the Left Hand of the Divine, in this world where there was no divinity to be found, stared down at Evelyn and seemed to take perverse pleasure in recounting the fall of Thedas and the deaths of all those held dear.

Templars corrupted. Mages turned. Rulers toppled. Armies crushed. Civilization crumbled. Cassandra fallen and left to rot on a battlefield. Cullen. The former Spymaster seemed to take a sick pleasure in recounting Cullen's fate while looking very deliberately into Evelyn's eyes. Cullen had killed himself, unable to bear another day under the weight of his own demons when there was no hope of an end.

Everything around her seemed to grow even colder. Leliana now led them on. Evelyn followed, stumbling forward, using every ounce of energy to_ not hear_ the deafening cacophony of demon voices promising her peace, promising her rest, promising her silence even as they robbed her of it. The demons were shouting, _relentless shouting_. The red lyrium was singing. And the _blood_...the blood everywhere was _calling_ to her, as if every drop she spilt was trying to sneak its way through her skin to find her magic and subsume it.

She didn't know how she continued to move forward. Whether she was fueled by contrition or stubborn will, she managed to keep going. Even when the words of the Chant wouldn't come to her, even as she searched her head for the familiar comforting verses that were somehow now forgotten or blocked out, pushed aside by the repulsive din, she managed to force herself on.

When their struggle through the future finally came to a head, she did what she could, as much as she thought she could without falling prey to her demons. Still, it wasn't enough. Still, she was useless. She had been judged and was found wanting. She watched the strangers she had once known fall in sacrifice to save her. Her. She who had brought this suffering upon them.

Varric went silently into death. She didn't see the moment he fell, she only saw his lifeless body. Rylen did not go silently. He went with a roar clutching is sword and his anger, but still, he went. She didn't see Solas die, nor did she see his body. One moment she caught him looking at her, disgust and disappointment written on his face. She could almost hear his words in her head.

_Still you squander your power. You let others fall while you keep silent? After all this, you continue to hide your magic rather than use it to help those you abandoned?_

But was that Solas? Or the demons? She hardly knew and it didn't matter. In the next moment, like a breath dissipating in the air, he was gone.

It was Leliana's iron resolve that finally broke Evelyn's tenuous hold on sanity. When the ghost of the woman she knew fell in tribute to a cause that was long dead in this world, Evelyn nearly jumped into the fray after her to seek the same fate. She could do no less than these others in the face of inevitable defeat. For what could any of this end up as but defeat and loss?

But she was denied even the right to a noble death, when Dorian pulled her through the vortex.

xxxx

"She did what?" Cullen squinted down at the report that Leliana had handed him. The words on the parchment were blurry and his aching head and throbbing eyes were in no mood to try and bring them into focus. They were making poor time back to Haven from Therinfal. Impatience and frustration both were wearing on him, among a myriad of other darker emotions. The condition of the Templars now under his command,_ just like old times_, ranged from disquieted to physically ill. Their lyrium supply was limited until they reached their destination and the incidental exposure to the red stuff had left all of them, not just the Templars, unsettled. He depended on Ser Barris to handle much of the daily management, but there was no doubt they all still looked to Cullen for their marching orders.

If Cullen had thought he was effectively dealing with his _situation_ before recent events, he was shown just how woefully wrong he was as each Maker Forsaken day passed. The harder he worked to stifle down the _wanting_ the more he wanted the lyrium. The less he slept to avoid the nightmares, the more his body fought him to stay awake. And the more he drove himself to exhaustion in the hopes it would erase the memories, old and new, the less he was able to resist recalling them in moments of silence.

So he gave himself none. No silence, no sleep, no lyrium. He was barely coping and barely hiding it. Fortunately for him, Cassandra fared little better than the shaken Templars so she had largely been keeping to herself, and hopefully would continue to do so. He had been trying to avoid Leliana as well. She and her spies had deliberately let some of the Red Templars escape. The bitch might as well have loosed demons on the world for as much as he railed at her when he found out.

When he finished shouting, she simply glared at him and said nothing. He knew she hoped they would lead her to larger prey, but Cullen was having trouble accepting she had just _let them go. _Her subterfuge and schemes would come back to bite them in the ass someday, he was sure, and beyond that, those abominations _didn't deserve to continue living. _Cullen didn't even worry that opposing Leliana so deliberately might be risky. If he was lucky she would kill him in the few minutes of sleep he got and put him out of his misery.

Far from that however, she had now openly sought him out to deliver news. News that he didn't quite believe and needed repeated aloud, not handed to him on paper. He shoved the message back at her and waited for her to acknowledge his refusal to read her damn report.

She took the parchment and folded it neatly as she gave in and elaborated. "The Herald has conscripted the rebel mages into the Inquisition." She paused waiting for some kind of reaction from him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of an emotional response. He felt certain, no matter what his response would have been, she would have found a way to use it against him somehow in the future. When he managed to maintain his indifference, she raised a curious eyebrow and continued. "Had I known you and Lady Trevelyan were going to try and recreate the Circles within our ranks, Commander, I would have kept you both in better check."

She spoke as if they were nothing but pawns on a chessboard. He suddenly wished he had some chess pieces so he could shove them right up her...

"I will leave you the entirety of Knight-Captain Rylen's report later to review at your leisure. The short of it is that King Alistair was forced to exile the mages after their actions in Redcliffe. Lady Trevelyan stepped in and offered them sanctuary with the Inquisition on the condition that they aid our cause in whatever way we see fit. They had little choice but to submit."

"Submit..." Cullen repeated the word distantly. He was sick of seeing so much submission. He refused to force his..._these._..Templars back into the service of keeping mages in check. It was too much like the past. And as much as he hated the present he hated the past more. But he also had no desire to be surrounded by unchecked magic. He snatched the report back from Leliana. It seemed he would have to read the whole accounting of things after all. There had to be a reason Evelyn had done this. The girl was too skittish around mages to willingly ally herself with them.

"The Knight-Captain explained as much as he was able, but I will still have many questions for our Herald when we rendezvous. We should be meeting her on the road in a few days' time, as she is also on her way back to Haven, mage rebellion in tow. We'll now have to make sure to keep the peace among ourselves as well as out there, Commander." Leliana walked away leaving him with more disturbed thoughts than he had before he spoke to her, if that was even possible.

He turned and retreated to his tent. Despite the late hour he had no intentions of sleeping. He didn't even sit. He threw Rylen's report down next to his bedroll, unread, and then he stripped out of his armor and clothes and started pacing. The night air was cool enough to provide some small measure of comfort against the fire chasing along his skin. He knew his fevers were growing worse, but there was little he could do about it. As he paced he thought of Evelyn.

He would be seeing her again very soon. He felt unprepared for it. Inadequate. _Guilty_. The things he had seen, the things Envy had done while wearing his face... He wasn't sure if he would be able to look at her without seeing dead dark eyes and a small severed hand resting in his own. He shivered at the memory even with the relentless heat burning him from within.

Despite the pain it brought him to remember his weakness in the nightmare, he wanted to see her. _More than anything_, he thought. More than anything he wanted to be near her again and feel her unique song move through him, silencing the call of the lyrium. Somehow, he'd forgotten how much he wanted it in the face of demons and dead Templars. He'd forgotten the soft innocence and quiet strength that fueled her persistent hope. He'd forgotten how she always listened to him. No one else ever listened. Not until it was far too late.

For the first time since they entered Therinfal, Cullen went through his things and found his gift for Evelyn. He cradled the hilt of his old sword in his hands, not daring to wrap his fingers around the grip. It wasn't his sword any longer. He needed to pass it on and give it meaning beyond the destruction it had wrought in the past. Also for the first time since Therinfal, he knelt, still holding the gift, and he prayed.

He prayed for her and her safety and he prayed for himself. He prayed that he be spared the nightmare he had witnessed, _lived_, and that he find peace soon. He prayed that she could help him find peace.

xxxx

Evelyn sat huddled in her tent, shivering against the cold. She thought that even if she conjured a fire right here and sat atop it she would still not be warm. Her very thoughts inside her were frozen and her heart as well where it beat within her chest. Flashes of the future she witnessed clung to her like icicles or like the red lyrium had clung to the victims of those dark days to come.

She saw no way forward, but there was also no way to retreat. She had no idea why she tethered the mages to the Inquisition. As punishment? A consequence they had no choice but to accept as a result of their conceit? Was it to keep them in check? She wasn't even sure Cullen had enough Templars on hand to manage them. Fiona was proving barely able to reign them all in. More than a few deserted before they even set out on the road back to Haven.

She hoped those that ran rather than join their cause met a grim fate on the road. It was no less than they deserved for nearly allowing that morbid future to happen.

_It still might._

The thought came unbidden as so many of her darkest thoughts did since Dorian pulled them back through time. At first, the mage was the only one she would speak to. He was the only one who had _seen_; the only one who could understand. Not that she tried to make the others understand. Dorian had been the one to tell them all what they witnessed and how it had come to pass. Even when Solas came to her in her sleep that first night, she practically ran from his scrutiny, refusing to interact like a stubborn child. It didn't take her long to see the error in that, however, and every night since she had redoubled her efforts in mastering everything he had to teach her. It felt like she never actually slept anymore. She would _not_ be found wanting if the time came to fight against that future.

She 'woke' each morning exhausted, mana drained, limbs aching and heart hardened a little bit more. Solas didn't ask after her motivations, but she knew he was pleased she was growing into her powers, such as they were. She had seen enough of the sacrifice of others. Inevitably she knew there would be a turning point where she could allow the future she saw wash over the world or, she could sacrifice herself to try and prevent it. That was the only road for her now. If her life held no other purpose than that, it would be enough. It would have to be enough. _What life can a mage have anyway? _

She pulled her legs closer to her chest and rested her head on her knees. It was still early evening but she never lingered around camp. There were too many mages now, all unwanted reminders of everything she didn't want to be reminded of. She had seen first-hand the secrets of darkest magic, given in hushed whispers to those who would use it with malice and misdeed.

With no solace to be found anywhere outside her tent or within, she turned to the only thoughts of comfort she had left.

Cullen.

Just thinking of him was enough to make the cold more bearable. She thought of his steadfast presence, his strength of purpose and his confident calm. She would finally be seeing him again soon and she could hold him in her eyes if not in her arms and see that he was real and alive. He would be near again, and she wouldn't have to feel so..._lost_.

For the first time since she left Redcliffe, Evelyn knelt down and prayed. She prayed for Cullen and his safety and she prayed for herself. She prayed the world be spared the fate she witnessed, _lived_, and that she find peace soon. She prayed that he could help her find peace.


	16. Templar and Mage

_**Chapter 16: Templar and Mage**_

It was approaching dusk when the Inquisition's Templars met the Inquisition's Mages on the road to Haven. The mages had been camped for two days in a comfortable area of wood not too far from the main highway. Even if he hadn't known where they were camped, Cullen would have been able to sense it. The air for miles around them reeked of magic and with each step closer towards the encampment he felt more and more caged. Even outside, even in the open woods, even with the endless blue expanse of sky above him, the feeling of so many mages made his fever rise and panic roil in his chest.

He sometimes felt this way after what happened at Kinloch Hold. Quarters were not as tight in Kirkwall as they were in the Tower, which helped, but a Templar could hardly _avoid_ being surrounded by mages. In those days it was the lyrium that helped the most. He could admit to himself now he had been taking more than was necessary, more than was healthy, but Meredith was only too happy to let him. The strength it gave him against the mages was exactly what she wanted, _what he wanted_, and he didn't care at the time that he was playing into her insanity. The only thing he cared about was that it helped him feel less trapped.

Cullen stopped his horse and dismounted at the edge of a clearing housing rows of tents. Having ridden up a little ahead of the Inquisition's new recruits from Therinfal, he was alone. He told himself it was because he wanted to assess the situation before the bulk of the force led by Barris arrived, but his soul knew it was to see the Herald as soon as possible.

He stood quietly for a while looking up at the sky, trying to focus on the clouds, the dimming sunlight, the birds overhead, anything but wanting lyrium. It was a futile endeavor, but seeing her would help. It had to. It certainly couldn't hurt.

"Commander." A voice called out to him. He reluctantly drew his eyes away from the heavens and brought them down to see Rylen approaching. At first glance the camp looked to be in order. Cullen hoped that boded well for the integration of the mages into the Inquisition ranks.

Clearly he hadn't learned yet that hope was another futile endeavor.

Rylen saluted and then shook his hand. "Glad you're here, Commander. We received Sister Leliana's reports and updates on the road."

"And your status?" Cullen asked as he handed off his horse to one of Rylen's men. He fell into step with the Knight-Captain who walked him through the encampment.

"We're making due. Better than I expected, truth be told. No major incidents. No personnel clashes. Except," His sentence was cut short when shouting erupted nearby. Rylen hung his head and let out a tired sigh. "Except,_ that_." He said and started hurrying towards the yelling growing increasingly louder.

"Explain." Cullen demanded curtly following at a brisk pace.

"The Herald, Commander. And the Grand Enchanter. They haven't _exactly_ been getting along."

They wound their way through the tents and came to an area where Lady Trevelyan was squared off against Grand Enchanter Fiona. The two women faced each other, cheeks red with anger, voices raised, fists clenched, and Cullen could sense the powerful weight of magic in the air held at bay. It made his hackles rise and he had to force himself to maintain steady breaths and not draw his weapon. Fiona wasn't _using_ any of her magic at the moment even if she was flexing it and Evelyn looked safe if_...different_.

Her hair that had been cropped short the last time he'd seen her had started to grow out, uneven and pinned up awkwardly in places in an attempt to keep it clear of her face. She was thinner, painfully so, and was pale with heavy dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and haggard and _empty_. The woman who had been full of heated drive and determination now appeared drained and cold.

Cullen felt as if the ground dropped out from under him. _What had they done to her?_

"What is going on here?" He demanded, too loudly, too fierce, but he couldn't help it. Ire rose up rapidly inside him.

"Cul...Commander?" Evelyn startled at the sound of his voice and her eyes turned and met his. There was a fleeting few seconds where he saw the familiar, _yearned for_, hope in her face before it quickly receded, leaving only a strangely complex _disappointment_.

It was an odd word to appear in his head, but Cullen knew that was what he saw behind the deep darkness of her eyes. He knew, because somehow he felt it too. This wasn't how he was expecting to find her. He'd had an image in his head of what he wanted to see and what was now in front of him was starkly different. This reunion wasn't making him feel better at all. If anything, he was starting to feel his angst amplify as all he saw looking back at him was pain and confusion that matched his own, just wearing a prettier face. He could only guess she felt the same, seeing not the man who left her at the Crossroads, but someone changed.

_No, not changed. She's just seeing who you really are now. You're too weak to hide it from her any longer._

When the Herald dropped her gaze to her boots it was almost a relief. Cullen wasn't sure how long he could stand to look at the negativity he found there. He had enough of his own to deal with. She stuttered out something resembling a greeting.

"Commander...I...Welcome...I mean, I'm...it's good to have you back."

He didn't get a chance to respond to her because Fiona took over the conversation. "Knight-Commander, if you're going to be assuming the primary role of authority here, we will need to come to a clearer understanding of what is expected of my people before moving forward. I will not continue to suffer the relentless badgering that your _figurehead_," The elf waved disrespectfully at the Herald, "has been forcing us to endure."

"That is not my title any longer, Grand Enchanter." Cullen said impatiently, ignoring her demand and responding instead to how she addressed him. He turned away from the women and towards Rylen looking for an explanation.

Rylen rolled his eyes and sighed again before starting. "Commander, we've made no specific restrictions on the use of magic among the mages, but they have voluntarily chosen to limit themselves to only what is necessary until a more permanent solution can be decided upon. They feel they can assist in closing the Breach but, obviously further investigation is warranted before anything is attempted."

"Which means they should_ not_ be _experimenting_!" Evelyn cried out, interrupting Rylen. "They have no idea what they're doing. They cannot be allowed to wield magic _without supervision_ against forces we do not understand!" She practically hissed the accusation, her face contorted in a profound hatred that Cullen found entirely out of proportion with the current argument.

"_Supervision_?" Fiona questioned through clenched teeth. "How dare you! We are not bound by the Chantry any longer and we are certainly not bound by _you_!" The mage rounded back on Cullen. "And you say you are no longer a Knight-Commander yet you march at the head of a Templar army? You'll forgive me if I do not take you at your word." She spit the words out at him like venom.

Rylen groaned and then mumbled under his breath as he gestured at the two women, "This has been _constant_ since we left Redcliffe, Commander."

"Knight-Captain, you _know_ what they did." Evelyn spoke in a whine, but this time softer, more exhausted. "What almost came to pass..." It was her turn to be interrupted when a group of people approached. Solas and Varric walked alongside another man with dark hair and an aura of dangerous magic surrounding him.

_So many fucking mages._

Cullen felt sweat start to collect on his skin and saturate the clothes beneath his armor. Solas' magic he had learned to tolerate. It was powerful but subtle and well controlled. Fiona felt like most every other mage he had known. She held her magic in check as one would a bad habit in polite company.

But this new mage, who he assumed was the Tevinter Rylen mentioned in his reports, was entirely different. To Cullen, it almost felt like the man was flaunting his magic. That, in and of itself, was nothing he couldn't endure, but the combined effort of resisting the symptoms of his withdrawal and the exposure to this myriad combination of magical energies was enough to make Cullen have to beat back the panic trying to strangle him.

He fought to remain as expressionless as possible. The Tevinter mage, Dorian, spoke. "Come now, Evelyn, we've talked about playing nice with our new friends haven't we? They've expressed their deepest regrets for all the trouble they've caused and amends will be made when the time comes. Let's not keep beating a dead horse. It isn't healthy, my dear. For you or the deceased equine."

_'Evelyn'? 'My dear'? _The frown Cullen was wearing deepened.

"Come on Kitten." Varric said. "Let Curly get caught up on things." Then the dwarf added for Cullen's benefit as if Evelyn wasn't there, "She hasn't been very comfortable around mages lately. Can't imagine why." He shot a sideways glance at Fiona that looked vaguely hostile.

Solas piped up. "She doesn't seem to have a problem with me." He offered a second glare at the Grand Enchanter. Fiona ignored both of them.

Dorian threw his two coppers onto the pile. "She adores me. Not surprising though, as I'm adorable. So really, Fiona, it's only you she dislikes. Probably something to do with that 'Let's ally ourselves with the minions of Evil' plan that we had to rescue you from. Can't blame her, really."

The Herald allowed herself to be led away by Varric. Cullen was left to the wolves.

Over the course of the following hours he endured the duties of his position. He was subjected to a list of the mage contingent's grievances, shouted at him by Fiona. He listened to a thorough accounting of supply stocks, soldier readiness and equipment needs imparted to him by Rylen who, to his credit, tried to be as succinct as possible. And, he suffered a retelling of the events at Redcliffe as told by Dorian during his 'debriefing' with Leliana which had very much the flavor of an interrogation.

Cullen wanted to dislike the man, mostly because he was in no mood to attempt positive feelings towards anyone, but whatever the Tevinter's motivations, he had protected Evelyn and brought her back to them. So, Cullen allowed that he would owe this mage a favor, if not several. _Not_ hating him on sight was one of those favors.

He also respected the way Dorian never flinched or faltered under the scrutiny of the Nightingale's questioning. Cullen knew Leliana well enough know to know when she was trying to make someone crack and admit to things they wouldn't have otherwise. But Dorian remained confident, cool and casual. The spymaster almost looked irritated. Perhaps Cullen could come to like this Dorian after all.

When those things were done he assisted Ser Barris in getting the Templars settled and then they, along with the Grand Enchanter, came to a series of agreements regarding boundaries and what each group would and wouldn't tolerate from the other. Cullen mostly sat silent while the two negotiated. His eyes would move to Barris and disgust would surface over the fate of the brotherhood he had held so dear for so long. Then he would turn his gaze to Fiona and anger would take the place of the disgust when he thought about the role the mages had played in bringing the world to this state.

Templars and mages. A union that had crumbled had now somehow been re-forged. Different than before, obviously, but still reminiscent enough to make Cullen feel more anger and more disgust over the whole situation, amplified by the fact that Leliana had warned him that this was going to be far too much like the past to be productive. He didn't want her to be right, but he feared she would be.

By the end of it all, the blue had faded from the sky and blackness speckled with the moons and stars filled its place. Cullen stood alone now in the middle of camp. If he wasn't the Commander someone might have questioned if he was lost. Everyone else had already taken their meals by the many fires scattered around and some were already heading to their tents to sleep. He tried counting the days since he last slept and the hours since he'd last eaten.

He should at least try to do both of those things but the thought of sleep made him nervous and the thought of food made him nauseous. Now that he was finally standing still, he also realized he felt abominably _hot_ so he forced himself to move despite his exhaustion just to feel the cool night air pass across his face. He chose a random direction and started walking, gripping tight to the pommel of his sword for no reason other than to give his muscles something else to do. As he walked among the Templars, the mages and, the odd assortment of people their young Inquisition had acquired thus far, his ears picked up the sound of singing carrying above the softer noises of nighttime.

Glad to have something else to occupy him, he followed the notes, some on point but most off key. As he searched for the source, he realized it was a woman. As he drew closer he realized the words of the song were slurred and being sung without proper modulation and a little too loudly at that. When finally he found the maker of the questionable music he saw that, very unexpectedly, it was the Herald.

She was sitting before a fire flanked by Rylen and Dorian. Her eyes were closed and she was flushed by the heat of the flames. She swayed back and forth between the two men, their respective shoulders serving to prop her up. Evelyn was inebriated. Plainly and completely drunk. An old Marcher tune spilled from her full lips and Cullen imagined, if he went close enough, he would be able to smell the alcohol on them.

Not wanting to think too much about her lips, he searched out the cause of her current state, because there was no way under the Maker's heavens that she would have come to be like this on her own.

He looked around suspiciously until his gaze landed on the obvious culprit. Varric leaned against a tree not too far away, looking at his handiwork with a satisfied smile. Cullen marched over to where he stood.

"You got her _drunk_?" Cullen accused the dwarf.

"What of it, Curly? If anyone needed to get sloshed it was her." Varric looked up at him. "I take that back. You look like you need it more than her, but she's a lot smarter than you so she agreed to it."

"She's nobility and was promised to the Chantry. You realize this is probably the first time she's ever been drunk?" Cullen let his annoyance take over the conversation. It made him feel a little better having somewhere to direct his pessimism. "She was sheltered. She's the only hope we have and she needs protected, not coerced into getting shit-faced."

"_She_ needs protected, or _you_ need to protect her? There's a difference. And she seems to do just fine on her own."

Cullen was getting more and more agitated. Not that he needed a reason beyond how horrible he felt, but he was not going to let Varric's stubborn insistence that his manipulations were good for people pass today. Not when they involved Evelyn.

"She's not Hawke, Varric."

"_No one_ is Hawke, Curly." Pride and melancholy in equal measure tinged Varric's statement.

"Ev..._Lady Trevelyan_ hasn't seen the things we've seen." Cullen wasn't certain if he was even talking about alcohol intoxication anymore. He didn't want to see Evelyn like this. Not for her well-being or for his.

"Hasn't anyone told you what happened to her in Redcliffe yet?" Varric now sounded as if he was making an accusation. "Because you're right. She hadn't seen the things we've seen. She's seen worse. So I'd advise you..."

But Cullen didn't hear the rest of the dwarf's lecture. Suddenly and unexpectedly he was overcome with a wave of pain and nausea. A sharp stab of agony ripped through his head and he saw white. His gut clenched and twisted and unless he wanted to let half the camp see him collapse he knew he would have to get away as quickly as possible. He turned abruptly while Varric was still talking and with a mighty effort just barely managed to stay upright as he hurried towards the thicker woods. When he was more deeply concealed by trees, he broke into a run using what fortitude was left to him and tried to get far enough away so that no one would hear his retching.

He fell to his knees on a patch of moss covering the forest floor and proceed to empty the contents of his already empty stomach. This was happening more frequently lately, these attacks, waves of pain and sickness, but it was usually in the middle of the night, either waking him up or occurring immediately after he woke himself up from a nightmare.

Though inopportunely timed, the event was blessedly brief as they typically were. When the need to heave subsided, he sat down on the ground trying to catch his breath in big panting swallows. His ears rung and his head still throbbed, but he would be able to bear it again in a few moments. He would go to his tent, strip down to nothing, let the cool night air touch his skin and try to empty his head as much as possible so that he could face tomorrow unburdened. He almost laughed at his apparent infatuation with futility.

Nevertheless, it was what he would do. He rose on slightly shaky legs and started walking back towards the camp. He'd gone not half a dozen steps when he heard, ironically, the sounds of someone vomiting. He stepped through tall drifts of dead leaves and ducked under a few low branches only to come upon a hunched form spewing sick into a low bush. It was Evelyn.

She sobbed softly and helplessly in between retches, suffering the consequences of Varric's handiwork. Cullen resisted the urge to kneel down behind her and hold back her hair. And then he chastised himself for wanting to fondle her hair between his fingers while she was sitting there ill and helpless. When she finally finished he cleared his throat to alert her to his presence.

She whipped around in a flash. Her eyes were swollen with tears and her face was flushed and glistening with sweat despite the fact that she was shivering in the cold. When she recognized him she groaned and closed her eyes.

"Commander," She said weakly, "I'm sorry...I..."

He approached her then, slowly crouching down in front of her. "Are you alright? It's Varric who should really be apologizing. What did he give you to drink?"

She sighed. "I don't know what it was and I don't particularly care. It's not as if I'll ever drink it again." She grimaced. "And I'm fine, it's just...well, I actually came to see if you were alright. I saw you talking to Varric and then you hurried away..." She refused to meet his eyes. "The way you looked earlier and _then_ and _now_...I thought...I was worried. You didn't look yourself."

_She's wrong. This hollow husk is what you really are. _

"I could say the same My Lady." He replied as he removed his coat on an impulse and wrapped it around her slight and trembling form. She pulled it closer, swimming and lost in the wide expanse of fur at the collar. He watched as she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. If he didn't think the moonlight was playing tricks with shadows he would have said she smiled.

"Evelyn." She spoke her own name and looked back up at him, having found a more steady voice. "You forgot, I asked you to call me Evelyn, Commander."

He blinked, staring into her eyes that matched the midnight. He wanted to call her by her name. He wanted to feel the sound of it on his tongue and he wanted to hear his name coming from her. He let himself give in.

"Cullen." Came his whispered request.

She let out a long breath that floated and moved in the frosty air, almost making its way to him.

"I don't want to talk about what happened, Cullen." It wasn't so much a statement as it was a plea, spoken serious and soft.

"I won't ask you to." He would re-live Envy's torments before he forced her to re-live the things that troubled her enough to reduce her to this.

She nodded her head and looked visibly relieved at his answer. A long while passed where there was only silence between them and then she broke it.

"Has it been very long?" Concern now crept across her face, hesitant but powerful.

"I'm sorry?" The subject of her question eluded him for only a second, then it hit him. Even as he asked for clarification, he knew what she meant.

"The lyrium. Have you stopped completely?"

His heart dropped into his gut. He fought the urge to leave, to deny, to stand, to walk away and never admit his shame to her. "How...?" He managed to croak out, his throat suddenly dry.

"I know what the withdrawal looks like." A simple answer, but there was clearly more to it.

He debated asking her to elaborate, taking the scrutiny away from him, but in the end he decided to just echo her plea. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I won't ask you to." The promise from her lips was as solemn as a prayer. And oddly, despite the unwanted revelation of his struggles, it soothed him as much as his prayers once did.

They sat together, beneath the moons, and listened to the wind move through the trees. This wasn't exactly what Cullen had hoped for. She wasn't a savior or a shining beacon, even if he had wanted her to be. She was a woman as mortal and flawed as he was with her own secrets and darkness.

And yet, seeing her like this and sharing at least the existence of their secrets with each other, if not their substance, felt like a little bit of the healing he was aching for. It wasn't nearly enough to make everything better, but it was more than they'd both had a few moments ago when they were throwing up in the brush. He wasn't thinking so much about the pain or the wanting or the past anymore while he sat there next to her and he didn't really care that feelings of awkwardness and inadequacy were the substitute.

It wasn't much but it was enough to want to thank her. Then he remembered he actually had something to thank her with. He'd almost forgotten.

"I have something for you, from Orlais. Well, not really from Orlais. Why anyone would want anything from Orlais escapes me. It's technically from Ferelden, I suppose. And it saw many years in Kirkwall..."

_What in the Void are you rambling about? Are you talking about yourself or the damned sword?_

Evelyn smiled at him, at his awkwardness and inadequacy, then she stood and extended her hand. It was the hand with the mark.

He reached up without a second thought, and took it in his own.


	17. Swords and Solace

**_Chapter 17: Swords and Solace_**

Rain poured down upon them as they walked back to the camp. The intermittent light from the moons shone out from behind fast moving dark clouds. The white streaks cast comforting shades of grey amidst the blackness of night. Evelyn huddled inside the warmth of Cullen's cloak, teeth chattering against the cold. She found herself not only keeping step with his long legged strides but practically clinging to his shadow, drawn in by the pocket of heat his body was creating. In contrast, Cullen stretched tall, face tilted up to catch more of the icy drops on his skin. He looked a little better than when she watched him run into the woods. He didn't look _well_ by any means, but she could hardly throw stones from her glass house.

Cullen walked with purpose and she followed. She wondered what it was that he had to give her from Orlais, but her curiosity was secondary to the complicated array of emotions stirred by having him physically present beside her again. It wasn't as if they had spent so much time together before they parted at the Crossroads that she should have had expectations regarding their 'reunion'. But, after allowing herself to be so consumed by thoughts of him while they were away from each other, Evelyn had created an entire fantasy of need and want around seeing him again. Reality, it seemed, never lived up to fantasy.

Fantasies were selfish and fickle, she reminded herself. She wanted something real. Even still being half drunk, she knew the moment she saw the Commander standing patiently behind her as she spewed sick, that she wanted him to be part of her reality, flawed though it was. Perhaps he needed something similar from her. Or from someone, anyone, and maybe she was as good as anyone would be in that role. It was funny to think that a Templar, a paragon of_ reality_, might be seeking to have that reality reassured by a mage. Funny and sad. And she really didn't want to think about that any longer.

Then again, maybe she wasn't as much solace to him as she should have been. She should have never asked him about the lyrium. As soon as the question about it escaped her lips, she chastised herself for the lack of wisdom in uttering it. Though she still felt the blue hued hum of the substance inside him, she knew a man withdrawing from its grip when she saw one. Her brother never told her for what reasons it was done to him, but she had seen him being manipulated with the stuff on frequent enough occasions to send a chill of sympathy through her already chilled body for what Cullen must be enduring. She wanted to hear more from him, more of his story, more of the why and how and who he was. She wanted to help him if it was in her power to do so. She hoped she would be able to.

And thus was hope inserted back into her being. It was barely perceptible over the pain in her head and the exhaustion in her limbs, but it was there and it was more than she'd had since Redcliffe.

They approached Cullen's tent to find the bizarre elf Sera standing guard, leaning on her longbow. Evelyn had briefly met her earlier in the day. When they were introduced, the other woman had wrinkled her nose, sneered, snorted, and then said something mostly unintelligible. Evelyn had nodded in pretended understanding and offered a polite, if generic, greeting.

"Oi.'Bout time, Commander Pukey Guts. Scary Ginger's been looking for you and Creepy Hand Girl over there. Varric asked me to run interference for a while to give you two cuddly buddy whatevers some time. I like him. Sexy crossbow. Like her better. Wouldn't mind having a go at that Bianca. So hurry up and get inside before old Nightingale finds you and puts the screws to you. Or pecks your eyes out. Do you think she sings while she tortures someone?"

To Evelyn's surprise, Cullen didn't seem put out or left wondering at Sera's cryptic communication. He moved past her and held open the flap of the tent, gesturing for them to go through. After they all ducked inside, the women shivered off the raindrops clinging to them while Cullen lit a lantern.

"Thank you, Sera." He said seriously. "Leliana hasn't had a chance to debrief the Herald yet but she can wait until the morning. Continue to keep an eye out please. Misdirect if necessary."

"Easier said than done, Ser CurlyLocks. Seems she's none too happy with Andraste's Bitch." Sera nodded in her direction. "Can't say I blame her. _We_ brought _proper_ soldiers to the fight. _She_ brought a bunch of fire starters." And then the elf stuck her tongue out at her.

Cullen sighed and rubbed his forehead. "We brought _Templars_. Lady Trevelyan brought _Mages_. And now we're all in this fight together. So we're all Andraste's Bitches it seems. Now please go. And...thank Varric for me." He added the last as a reluctant mumble, but he had added it.

Sera mock saluted then went back out into the rain. Cullen just stood, water dripping off his armor, apparently thinking. Evelyn watched enraptured as the soaked blond locks that both Varric and Sera seemed to want to tease their Commander about shrunk into tight little curls atop his head. She let the wet tendrils of his hair totally take over her thoughts. She wondered what it would feel like to muss them, to let her fingers snake through them, to bury her nose in them and inhale.

He caught her staring. Immediately he brought both his hands up and ran his own fingers through the short tresses, slicking them back. A few unruly strands disobeyed and fell down across his forehead.

Evelyn smiled. It felt good to smile again, even if doing it made her headache worse.

Cullen spoke. "You should stay here tonight."

Evelyn coughed. "What?"

Cullen backtracked. "No! I mean..."

"Yes." _What was she saying yes to?_

"What?" _Hadn't she asked that question?_ He paused then shouted, "Leliana!"

"Who?"

Cullen's eyes rolled up into his head as he closed them and took a deep breath. Each word of his next sentence was slow and deliberate. "You should stay here tonight to avoid Leliana. I'll go elsewhere."

_Was that disappointment fluttering in her chest?_ "Yes. Of course." She said hurriedly even as she thought, _you don't have to go elsewhere._ "You should stay in my tent then. No one will bother you. People have been avoiding me for the most part. I think Varric had a hand in that as well, not that I haven't been grateful. You'll be able to rest. If no one comes looking for me here, no one will go looking for you there. And I'm set up at the far end of camp. It's quiet. You'll be able to sleep."

He looked uncomfortable at the mention of sleep and didn't respond. Evelyn winced and silently chastised herself again for inadvertently touching on another sensitive subject. The last thing she wanted to do was make this man uncomfortable and here she was doing exactly that. He said nothing, however, and instead he turned and reached into a trunk that stood open beside his bedroll. He pulled out a package wrapped in silk with the flaming sword of Andraste stitched into it. He held it in his hands for a moment, looking down at it with a frown. Evelyn almost thought he was going to put it back, right before he held it out to her. When she took it from him, he let out a long breath he must have been holding. Then, he stepped past her, almost in a rush, and moved to exit the tent. He was half way outside when he paused and glanced back at her.

"Good night, My Lady." His voice sounded weighty and thick, obviously holding so much more than those four simple parting words. Then he was gone.

Evelyn stood for a long time, surrounded by the Commander's things, just holding the package unopened not sure of what to do. She wanted to follow him. Sit with him. Talk with him. But he'd asked her to stay here and his abrupt departure clearly indicated he had no desire to sit and talk with her despite notes of something desirous in his voice. She also didn't want to risk running into Sister Leliana when everyone seemed to be trying very hard to keep them apart until she was less drunk or less hungover or both.

She set the package on Cullen's bedroll, undressed and laid out his cloak and her clothes to dry. When she finally settled down to open her gift, her hands trembled at the sight of it, the _feel_ of it. It was the hilt of a Templar sword.

She studied it, dumbfounded, for a long time. The enchantments it harbored were still very much alive, even without the blade. It was solid and grounded and _real. _She could almost feel the magic in her hands recede into silence simply by holding it. She gripped it tighter, awestruck. Nothing had ever felt so..._comforting_. It eased her heart and eased her mind and everything suddenly just seemed easier. There wasn't enough power left in it to rob her of her abilities but it was enough to make bearing them less cumbersome. It felt exactly like Cullen. A whisper of Templar, behind the force of a man.

Was this his sword? Why would he entrust her with such an important thing? It was as if she held a piece of him in her hands. She clutched it to her breast needing it closer to her heart and she felt the metal, warm against her skin, _beat_. It thumped out a pulse that harmonized with her own. She held it as if letting it go would cause her to fall into the abyss. She caressed every well-used contour of it, memorized every nick and mark, worshiping its scarred and worn beauty. If she had ever been given a gift, before she herself had been given to the Chantry, she didn't remember it. She could barely put into thoughts, let alone words, what this meant to her. So she just held it and listened to its song and it was to that softly beating sound she fell asleep, her head resting upon Cullen's pillow.

Solas was waiting for her as soon as she closed her eyes. To her surprise, she was still holding Cullen's sword. She looked around and found herself in a dilapidated battlement tower in the old fortress her elven tutor always brought her to now in their shared dreams. Moonlight was shining through a hole in the roof and Solas leaned up against a wall, arms folded and looking proud.

"The Commander gave me the hilt of his sword." Evelyn wasn't sure if she was explaining the object she held or if she was looking for an explanation.

"I see that." A wide smile spread across the elf's face. "Would you like to learn how to use it?"


	18. Inns and Innuendo

**_Chapter 18: Inns and Innuendo_**

"There's a _shield_ in your hand. Block with it. If I were your enemy, you'd be dead!" Cullen lowered his own shield in frustration. He might as well have spoken to the horses in the stables or the birds in the sky. It would have been just as much wasted breath. _Maker, but she was terrible at this._

"Are you sure you're _not_ my enemy, Commander?" The Herald replied with obvious exhaustion as she bent forward trying to catch her breath.

He'd been attempting to train her in the use of a sword and shield since they arrived back at Haven but she was still nowhere near passable, let alone proficient.

"She's terrible at this. You're wasting your breath, Boss."

Cullen turned to the massive wall of Qunari that put voice to his own thoughts on the matter. As usual, his training session with Evelyn had drawn observers. The Iron Bull, Varric, and Dorian were all in attendance. They suffered no guilt over their layabout status, doing nothing productive with their afternoon, choosing instead to offer idle comments on the struggles of others.

"Please stop calling me that." Cullen said impotently for the hundredth time. He had assumed The Iron Bull and his men would be reporting to Leliana since she had been the one to personally recruit them, but for some reason he insisted on reporting to Cullen. It irritated him, to say the least, that he now had a Ben Hassrath spy imbedded in his ranks. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his portion of the Inquisition free from intrigue. He felt certain his obvious irritation over the matter was why Leliana allowed it continue. Either that or she instructed Bull to do it on purpose so she could have another set of eyes, or eye in the singular as it were, on the Commander.

"Whatever, Boss. Look, maybe I should just teach her how to use a two-hander if you want her to learn something that keeps the enemy at a farther distance." Bull made a dramatic pantomime swing of an imaginary axe.

"Maker, No!" Evelyn cried out. "The shield is heavy enough. That's the problem I think." She rubbed her shoulders, looking defeated. Cullen set down his shield and picked up hers. It was so feather-light he wondered if it would even be of any use at all.

"This is the third shield we've gone through. I can't get you one any lighter." He let out a long sigh as he looked Evelyn up and down. It was possible the shield might indeed still be too heavy for her off-hand. She was slender and delicately boned, with a physique much more suited to swift maneuvering than bearing the brunt of an attack. She rolled her neck and arched her back, stretching her muscles under his gaze.

He was just about to tell himself to stop staring at her body when the solution came to him, as if it had always been there. He had to hold back a smile. He could give her a defensive tool without forcing her to learn the shield. He pulled his parrying dagger from its sheath in his boot, flipped it artfully in his hand and offered it to her.

"Forget the shield. Use this."

"A parrying dagger?" She questioned as she reached out for it.

"You can use it for defensive purposes in your off-hand and continue using the longsword. This will compliment your existing style of fighting instead of forcing you to learn another." Despite his best effort, he could feel a lopsided smile stretch his lips. He was eager to see if she would be as pleased with his solution as he was.

When she smiled widely back, a strange fleeting moment of delirium fell upon him. His heart beat faster. His face wanted to keep smiling. They both just stared at each other, looking ridiculous and far too happy at something as mundane as weapon selection until Varric decided to capitalize on the situation.

"Exactly how many times are you gonna give her your sword, Curly?" The dwarf had his arms folded across his chest. Cullen thought he might be able to punch him in the face before he could effectively defend himself.

Bull snorted and Dorian laughed musically. Their acknowledgement of the joke at Cullen's expense ended his brief moment of cheerfulness. He did his best to make his face expressionless.

When he'd given Evelyn his Templar sword he hadn't expected her to actually wear it. It was nothing but a useless trinket, but she always carried it with her, stuck in her belt next to the scabbard of her real weapon. He hadn't yet asked her why.

Consequently, everyone now knew about it. It was enough to make Cullen want to take it back, throw it in the frozen lake and hope the damn thing broke the ice and sunk to the bottom. But Evelyn was so obviously enamored with it he couldn't bring himself to rescind his gift despite the relentless one-liners he was enduring as a result. _Children. The lot of them._

"Let's see if she can take it then, Boss." Cullen closed his eyes at Bull's addition and tried to will the heat out of his cheeks. He pointedly avoided looking at Evelyn, but he thought he could feel her blush rising as well. The Qunari waved his hand indicating they should begin another round of fighting. "My money's on you."

"Much as I hate to agree with him," Dorian sneered at Bull with a sideways glance, "My coin shall also be placed at the feet of our strapping Commander. I must bet with my heart after all." The mage announced as he winked at Cullen.

"Sure. Your _heart_. Right." Bull sneered right back.

Dorian ignored the doubtful glare aimed at him and continued on. "Commander, please don't think that because I'm a mage, I would not appreciate it if you gifted _me_ with your sword as well."

Cullen closed his eyes and hung his head. It was endless. It was never going to end. And he'd done it to himself.

"Commander!"

He opened his eyes at the sound of his title being called and saw Josephine striding towards them waving a letter above her head. Cullen fought the urge to run in the opposite direction.

When she reached them she nodded in greeting to all present. "Actually, Lady Trevelyan, this involves you as well. I'm glad I found you both. I've just received a letter from Orlais..."

"No." Cullen stopped her right there.

The Ambassador quirked her head and persisted. "It's from..."

"No." He repeated himself.

"But..."

"No."

"Commander!"

"Absolutely not, Ambassador. Whatever it is, whatever it says, whoever it's from, if it came from Orlais, the answer is no." _And nothing was going to make him change his mind._

Unfortunately, Evelyn took it upon herself to be accommodating where he would not. "What is it, Ambassador?" She asked Josephine, politely.

After giving Cullen a narrow eyed glare, the Antivan turned to address Evelyn alone. "We've received a letter from the Enchanter to the Imperial Court who is a close advisor of the Empress. She has expressed a desire to speak with the Inquisition. I believe this to be a potential offer of assistance if we play her game correctly."

"As I said. _No_." Cullen reiterated more forcefully. "Now if you'll excuse us..."

"Wait. She's a loyalist, is she not?" Evelyn asked. Cullen did not like where this was going. "If we could persuade her to join us, she might be a good influence for the mages here. She could provide a stabilizing voice and assist with training..."

_Nothing was going to make him change his mind. He was not going back to Orlais. For anyone. For any reason._

"Exactly my thoughts, Herald." Josephine smiled at Cullen. It was sweetly evil. "She has also been a vocal supporter of the Templar Order, Commander, and has expressed an interest in meeting you, in particular."

"I'm not going back there." He said petulantly, stubborn to the last. "You _swore_ to me I never had to go back there."

And then Evelyn utterly betrayed him. "Do you think she would speak with me if I went? She really would be a useful ally."

_To think that only moments ago he'd been smiling. _Cullen looked up at the sky, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of the Maker laughing at him. He tried not to see Josephine's triumphant smirk. He tried not to hear Varric's knowing chuckle. He tried very hard _not_ to say what he inevitably said next.

"_Fine_. We'll depart in the morning."

xxxx

In the interest of swift travel, Cullen assembled only a small party to go with him and Lady Trevelyan to Orlais. Evelyn requested that Dorian accompany them. The Iron Bull volunteered, but the last thing Cullen needed was another spying eye and more jokes about his sword. Cassandra refused to go even before he asked her. He decided to bring Sera as an alternative. In the event any nobles got too close to him she could shoot them in the face. He also had Ser Barris join them. The knight had served in Orlais for a time and was Ferelden nobility himself. He would be useful as a buffer. It was as much insulation from the simpering masked masses as he could arrange on such short notice.

Josephine had secured lodgings with one of the Inquisition's benefactors. Cullen didn't reveal until they were only a few hours away from their destination that he had no intentions of staying there. He had planned on taking a room by himself at whatever inn was nearby in an attempt to remain anonymous. When Sera found out, however, she also refused and followed Cullen to his inn. This prompted a chain reaction.

Ser Barris, not wanting to break ranks, followed his superior officer. Dorian came reluctantly but, in the end, he joined them, albeit with much complaining. And the Herald, inevitably, went where Cullen went as she was want to do since they'd bonded in the woods over illness and ill-conceived gifts.

There was a strange resonance developing between them that went deeper than the close proximity in which they always seemed to find themselves. He wasn't sure if it was because she was still carrying his sword or if it was simply because they were spending so much time together. He _was_ sure that it struck a chord within him that he'd thought would be forever silent. The notes of her song in his head now felt of warmth, instead of stifling heat. Whispers instead of racket. Dreams instead of nightmares. Tenderness instead of bitterness.

So it was with a small smile that the Inquisition's Commander handed out room keys to his traveling companions in a small roadside inn along an Orlesian highway. He'd been shamelessly maneuvered into this trip because of those same tender feelings he clearly wore too openly on his sleeve as of late. But, Cullen considered it a victory that at least he'd been able to bend the execution of the trying journey to his will.

When he found Evelyn alone in an alcove towards the back of the taproom to give her her key, she was sitting at a small table holding his sword in both her hands and delicately fondling it.

He cleared his throat and caught her attention. "You don't have to be so gentle, you know. It's seen rougher hands."

_Oh, fucking void! Now he was doing it! _He groaned inwardly and tried to erase the innuendo with stuttering prattle. "I...um...I mean, it's not going to break. It's seen more battles than I care to remember. Than _it_ cares to remember, I'm sure. In fact, it's better off with you than it ever was with me. It's a worthless thing now anyway, I'm not sure why you carry it around, there's certainly no need to for my sake. If you like it, though, I could see it refitted with a blade for you. You're capable enough now with a longsword."

_Did that sound bad too? Maker, there was no way to avoid sounding bad._

Cullen sighed. "I hate Orlais. Here's your key." He turned to leave before any more could be said about his sword.

"Wait." Evelyn called out to him and he did his best to keep his eagerness to turn back to her from being obvious. "Will you join me?" She extended her marked and gloved hand to the chair opposite her. "I was sharing a drink with Dorian but he said he needed his beauty rest for Enchanter Vivienne's party tomorrow."

Cullen sat and gestured at the full glass of spirits in front of her. "It doesn't look like you were actually drinking."

"No." She shook her head, and a few dark locks of her hair tumbled forward from where they'd been tucked behind her ear. "Once bitten, twice shy I suppose." She picked up the glass and offered it to him.

"I normally wouldn't but I did wonder the last time I was here if drinking would make this country more tolerable." He took the drink from her and downed it in one go, wincing at the burn as the alcohol slid down his throat. "Has anyone offered you anything to drink yet that wasn't fire water? You might find something milder actually to your liking."

"Then when we return to Haven you'll have to introduce me to Ferelden ale, Commander."

He laughed. "If you asked Josephine, I think she would tell you that wouldn't be much better."

"I actually like Ferelden quite a bit. It's big and beautiful and..._honest_. It was very different in The Marches where I grew up. Did you not miss it when you served in Kirkwall?"

"At the time, no, but since I've been back I realize it is home to me." Cullen relaxed in his chair. It was nice to be able to have a conversation and trust that she wouldn't bring up things he didn't want to discuss. Even an idle chat always held the possibility of triggering negative emotions in him if something said touched on any part of his past or present he tried to keep sequestered lest it continue to color his whole life in negativity. He was trying to change. And it was easier to think that he could when he spoke with Evelyn. They had both kept their promise to not ask the other about their respective pain, even if it was so obviously just below the surface of their daily interactions with the world.

They sat quietly for a while, he holding his empty glass and she still holding his sword. It was an easy silence and silence with her seemed to be just as pleasant as talking. He was just thinking that Orlais was almost bearable with Evelyn when she spoke again.

"I, um, I wanted to thank you, Commander," She started but then she corrected herself. "_Cullen, _for your gift and all of your time and your help and...your friendship." She looked away from him, back down at the object she held as tightly now as she was holding his attention. His heartbeat seemed to wait for her to continue. When she did, he had to strain his ears to hear her words that were barely above a whisper.

"It's difficult for me to be..._myself_...sometimes..._all the time_. But when I'm with you I feel more comfortable in my own skin. If that makes any sense at all. I'm certain it doesn't. I don't think I like Orlais very much either, to be honest. People have to wear enough masks anyway just to get by in life without actually making it necessary attire. I'm so sorry you were forced into this trip on my account."

"Don't be. Please." He replied quickly, wanting to reassure her, to protect her even from her own self-doubt. _Perhaps Varric was right after all. _

He couldn't help but think though that she _wanted_ to be protected. Or perhaps that was just more of him needing it to be so. "This place is a bit better than it was before. With you here." He told her truthfully.

That earned him a smile. She looked away from him shyly and they sat again in silence for a while. Eventually she stood, placing his sword back in its place on her belt and took her key that he'd set on the table for her.

"Goodnight, Cullen." She said, with sincerity, and then she added a statement so strange and yet so true he found himself too shocked to reciprocate her well wishes.

"May your sleep be dreamless." She said. And then she left him.

Cullen stared after her, awed and speechless. He'd never been offered such an _appropriate_ good night. He was suddenly and unexpectedly overwhelmed by how comforting her words were. How _right_, and how meaningful and how perfect. Even without knowing his past, even without knowing the extent of his lyrium withdrawal and the toll it was taking on him she somehow knew what wish would be most soothing, most reassuring. It was too much to hope for sweet dreams in this life, but simply the absence of bad ones was something he could wish for.

He realized too now that the feelings she stirred in him were also unexpected and overwhelming, but not unwelcome.

He rose from the table and went to his own room, for once not trying to avoid or delay bedding down for the night for fear of what the Fade might hold for him. He was feeling lucky for a change. Lucky to be alive and where he was and lucky that Evelyn was somehow part of his life. If his luck held out, his sleep would either be dreamless as she had wished for him or, he would dream of her.


	19. Cake and Encouragement

_**Chapter 19: Cake and Encouragement**_

Madame de Fer was an ambitious sort but Cullen respected her desire for order and her desire to serve. Both Evelyn and Dorian had tried to explain to him that her desires would likely be self-serving in the end, but still, the Enchanter didn't hesitate or even blink at leaving her luxurious trappings in Orlais and exchanging them for a tent and an extended trip to Ferelden.

All told, Cullen felt the journey was a success. He even managed to escape Vivienne's salon unscathed and mildly entertained. He'd briefly considered stopping Sera before she slipped something into the wine cask but he didn't. He was slightly annoyed that for the rest of the evening he'd had to assure none of his companions drank the wine, but seeing so many Orlesian nobles turn green and go running holding their hands to their mouths was worth the minor inconvenience.

Consequently, a few hours after they'd been on the road back to Haven, when they stopped to water the horses, Sera presented him with a box of small cakes as a gesture of thanks for turning a blind eye to her prank. They were presumably pilfered from Vivienne's kitchens. _Only Orlesians would miniaturize cake_, he thought to himself with disgust. Before he took the box, he stared down at the elf dubiously and cocked an eyebrow.

Sera scowled. "What do you take me for? They're clean. But save that one for Evelyn." She pointed to a little round yellow confection with a rind of lemon on top and then mumbled. "Heard her say that's her favorite."

"Wait.'_Evelyn_'? Just her name? Nothing clever or derogatory?" Cullen asked, amused, wondering what 'Andraste's Bitch' did to win back her real name.

"Meh." Sera shrugged. "She saw me spike the wine too but didn't say nothin'. Earned her a cake. Speaking of, I've got somethin' else I've been meanin' to give ya, Commander Porny Gifts. Seein' as how you got your sword in her pants already, thought I'd teach you a lesson that might help you later."

Now totally immune to jokes about his 'sword', Cullen's only response was to take the box of cakes and sit down on the ground under the shade of a large tree. He gestured for Sera to join him, then reached for a cake. He hadn't tried to eat anything since the previous day so he took a tentative bite. It was chocolate. And it actually tasted really good. He popped the rest in his mouth and tipped the box towards Sera to see if she wanted one as well. She shook her head and instead pulled a peach out of her pocket and started eating.

They ate in silence for a moment until Sera started in on him again. "Kissed her yet?"

Cullen considered playing dumb and asking 'Who' or denying such a thing had even crossed his mind, but Sera had been nice enough to give him cakes that weren't poisoned, so he decided to just be honest. At the very least, if Sera were to try and reveal anything he said, no one would understand her anyway, so he felt safe in the privacy of any conversation with her.

"No. I haven't."

"Huh. I'm surprised _she_ hasn't jumped _you_ yet with all those twinkly eyed looks she shoots your way while she's feelin' up your sword. Your sword that she sticks in her pants. _Hehehe_. She sticks your sword in her pants." Sera chuckled briefly at her joke that was apparently still funny the second time around. "Anyway, twinkly eyes, always up your arse, and probably sleeps with that sword of yours tucked between her legs means you two lovey-doveys'll be smoochie poos soon enough."

Cullen ate another cake, and wondered if, phallic symbols aside, it really was so obvious that he and Evelyn were becoming comfortable with one another, if not intimately close in the way Sera implied. He said nothing and let the elf continue.

"Soooooo," She droned. "Since you done right by me, thought I'd show you how to get the _real_ kissing done. Cuz once you've got the nicey-nice kisses under your belt, you'll be going under_ her_ belt and no one needs the big time Commander embarrassing himself. Not like you Chantry boys get taught anything _useful_."

"Huh." Cullen scoffed. "And you would know that how? I'll have you know my skills are varied and _useful_ in all respects."

Cullen knew he probably shouldn't have engaged her. He knew he should have gotten up and left, if not all out run away, but he was trapped under a box of cakes and his own morbid curiosity. When she moved to stand in front of him, however, and went about attacking her peach with her mouth, he had to set the cakes down and shield his eyes. At least he tried to shield his eyes, but she kept batting his hands away and chasing him. He turned and twisted trying to avoid staring at whatever lewd nonsense was going on with the unfortunate fruit.

"Maker's Breath, Sera! Enough!" He pleaded, but she just laughed, her mouth full of peach.

Unfortunately she was quicker than him and suddenly he found himself face to face with her. With a final loud slurp and bite, she managed to squirt him directly in the eye with syrupy juice. Momentarily blinded, all he could do was listen to the elf cackle at her prank.

"Ahahahah! Got that Cully Wully?" She taunted. "That's exactly how you know you did it right!"

xxxx

"You're doing it all wrong, my dear."

Evelyn turned to Dorian, reluctant to pull her gaze away from the Commander who actually looked relaxed, eating cake and conversing with Sera. "I'm sorry, Dorian, what? What am I doing wrong?"

"If that's the best 'Come Hither' look you can muster, you're going to need more of my assistance than I originally anticipated." The mage draped one of his arms around Evelyn's shoulders, pulling her in conspiratorially. "You see, dear girl, the look you're wearing says _'Please_ love me'..." Dorian turned his lips down into a pout, made ridiculous by his neatly groomed mustache. "...when what you want it to say is 'You_ will_ love me'." And at that, one of his eyebrows raised suggestively and his voice lowered an octave.

Evelyn shrugged him off and snorted. She looked down at the ground hiding a smile. "Dorian, stop." The order was half-hearted. The mage was the only person she'd openly spoken with about her growing feelings for Cullen. In silent moments alone, she realized what a folly it was; an impossibility tainted by her lies and deception. But when she talked with Dorian she almost believed she deserved someone to love, because he seemed to believe everyone deserved happiness on their own terms.

_Love. Had it come so quickly to that? _She was doing nothing but courting danger. Despite Dorian's words of encouragement, he didn't know what she was. Everything about her feelings was an impossibility and yet she yearned impossibly for what she knew she couldn't pursue.

_In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied..._

Her mind broke away from the damning words of the chant when she heard Sera laughing loudly. She lifted her gaze from her boots and saw the Commander rubbing his eyes vigorously. She wished she knew how to be as carefree in her interactions with him as Sera was.

"Ugh." She could hear Dorian rolling his eyes, even if she didn't see it happen. "Evelyn, darling, trust me when I say you have _nothing_ to worry about with that shabby elf. I assure you Sera has _no_ romantic interest in our golden Templar."

"An even if she did, _which she doesn't_," he emphasized, "do I have to remind you of his little gift you wear so proudly in your belt? Never in the history of gifts has there been one more obvious. And what's more adorable is that neither of you had any idea how amazingly obvious it was until we told you. Simply adorable. Oblivious, but adorable. Now look sharp, he's coming over her. Better yet, look sexy. Or as best you can manage. I'll have to do something about that later as well. 'Chantry mouse' doesn't suit you. Honestly, my work is never done!"

Dorian slipped away and Cullen appeared before her, presenting an open box with a pristine little lemon cake sitting inside. She looked up at him then looked over at Sera.

He laughed and it made her insides flip. "I thought the same thing, but I assure you it isn't tainted with anything. Sera just wanted to thank us for letting her get away with poisoning Enchanter Vivenne's guests. She heard you say this was your favorite. So. All yours. I'm afraid I ate the rest of them. I don't know what came over me. Before I knew it they were gone." He looked bewildered by his overindulgence and rubbed the back of his neck.

Evelyn took the cake and started eating. She decided to chance a question about his condition. "Is your appetite returning?"

She'd dive head first into a Fade rift before she broke her promise and asked him outright about his lyrium withdrawal, but she worried and speculated about it endlessly. The Inquisition's other Templars seemed to be well supplied in that regard, so he must be denying himself by choice. If that was the case, he would be the first knight she'd ever known to attempt such a thing. The Chantry's control was absolute. That this man possessed the fortitude to find success in breaking the chains of that control made her gut do another flip at the thought of his will to persevere.

_He's too good for you._

She ignored the whisper inside her head, vicious in its truth, and focused instead on his response to her question.

"My appetite comes and goes, I suppose. Thank you for asking." He smiled at her then, soft and small, but she took it as an invitation to ask him more about himself. She didn't want to press further in that moment, but she beamed inside as she ate her cake, the bright sweetness of the lemon matching her mood. She was so enraptured she never even acknowledged the whispered Chant continue in her head.

_Those who bear false witness and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies._


	20. Dreams and Nightmares

**_Chapter 20: Dreams and Nightmares_**

They hadn't been back in Haven a full week when Cullen's dreams turned troubled. They weren't troubled in the fashion he'd become accustomed to with vivid colors, noises and sensations that clung to him long after he woke, gasping and sweating. They were troubled in the way he remembered the night before he stormed Therinfal.

The dreams were formless and haunting, slipping just out of his memory when dawn came, leaving a deep feeling of dread. He carried with him out of the Fade only brief glimpses, echoes of sounds, whiffs of some danger just out of reach. There were hints of fire and red at the edges of his consciousness. And there was a boy.

He always remembered seeing a strange young man, though he had no idea where the dreams were taking place or who the unknown visitor was. He looked familiar, but Cullen was certain he'd never met him before. _Or had he?_ It wouldn't be the first time a demon found Cullen in the Fade, biding its time in the shadows, watching and waiting, but this felt different. He could describe in detail every demon he'd ever encountered on either side of the Veil, but when he tried to picture the boy during the daylight hours, hoping to recall how or if he knew him, the image slipped away, vague and indeterminate.

When not tending to his duties, Cullen was becoming increasingly distracted by the shapeless foreboding of these new nightmares. So he made it a point to always have duties to attend to. Which was, of course, noticed by a sharp-eyed Cassandra. She confronted him one night, on his evening patrol.

"Something is troubling you." No one was better at stating the obvious than Seeker Pentaghast. Cassandra fell into step beside him as he walked the paths by the lake.

He decided to respond to the question she was bound to ask before she asked it. "It has nothing to do with lyrium."

"I wasn't implying that." She said, sounding offended. "In fact, in that respect, you seem to be coping better recently. I don't know what has changed, but whatever it is, it's good for you."

_Evelyn. That's what changed._

He wasn't sure when he'd started seeking her out, but he had. When his mind swam with chaos and his body ached in withdrawal he always managed to search out the Herald. Not that he ever had to look hard, because she was always there. They would sit or they would walk. They would train or she would busy herself helping him with odd tasks. She would ask questions, endless questions, but never about lyrium, and she would listen. It was soothing and the benefits to his psyche were apparently easy to see. Cassandra must have noticed the way his face softened when he thought of her.

"Perhaps I do know what's changed." She said knowingly with half a smile.

Cullen groaned and rolled his eyes. "Not you too." The Seeker had been the only one so far to spare him teasing over the subject.

"The two of you seem naturally suited to one another. It's obvious you're both developing an attachment. I think it's romantic."

Cullen stopped walking and just looked at her, not bothering to hide his smirk.

"What?" Cassandra huffed defensively. "Why wouldn't I think so? A warrior must have passion or he is no warrior at all."

"He _or_ she, Seeker, clearly." Cullen clarified, amused.

"Clearly." Cassandra scowled. "And you are also clearly deflecting, Commander. I wanted to know what was troubling you."

"I'm not deflecting." Cullen said honestly. "I just don't know what's _wrong_. But something is. Or will be. Can you feel anything?" In addition to being a perceptive human being, Cassandra was a Seeker and he was interested in hearing if her abilities, honed by years of devotion and faith, could detect something a lyrium-lacking former-Templar's could not.

"Other than a general feeling of restlessness among our people, no. But I admit the untamed magic of the Breach is difficult to push aside. It clouds the senses."

Cullen nodded, disappointed, and resumed walking. He had nothing but his own disturbed dreams to justify his unease. He wondered if it wasn't about the lyrium after all. _It's always about the fucking lyrium. _And he'd been so quick to deny it because he had genuinely been feeling better recently. Evelyn made him forget for a time. The aura of her and the strangely comforting song that came with it rang in his head instead of the lyrium call. When in her company, thoughts of lyrium almost didn't exist, like he was a different person, someone he wanted to be and she allowed him to be that person even though she knew his issues.

Cullen stopped walking again. "Evelyn. She knew about the lyrium. About my not taking it. Did you say something to her?"

When he realized that sounded like an accusation, he retracted. "I'm sorry, I know you wouldn't, I just wondered how she would know. Even with her family's history with the Order, familiarity with lyrium withdrawal is not common."

Much like his troubling dreams with no face and no voice, the things that Evelyn _didn't_ say about herself and her family, which was a great deal he could tell, left Cullen wondering. The girl was _damaged _somehow by her history, like he was, but it seemed closer to the surface. He'd had years to build scars over his wounds, even if he chose to keep them mostly private. He always got the sense that she was still bleeding somewhere inside.

Cassandra furrowed her brow. "As you well know, Kirkwall was not the only troubled section of the Order. Ostwick was investigated by the Seekers more than once on suspicions of manipulating Templars with lyrium. I was not privy to the details. For all we know she watched her family in the Order use it against others."

"Or perhaps she saw her brother being manipulated. We know they were close. I didn't get the sense that she was on the wielding end of that particular weapon." Though he wondered if Bann Trevelyan was. He certainly had the means, given his ties with Chantry authorities. After experiencing Evelyn's father and seeing the man cast his daughter aside like she was refuse, Cullen's opinion of the Trevelyan patriarch wasn't exactly warm.

"All the best heroines have been through trials in their past." Cassandra said firmly, but with a hint of something almost awe-inspired in her voice. "But they eventually emerge victorious. Usually with the help of a dashing knight."

Cullen shook his head, again bemused by the Seeker. "Cassandra, does anyone else know what a hopeless romantic you are?" She was as complex as any soldier of faith had a right to be. That must be why he liked her so much.

"No." She answered his question with a mean glare. "And you're going to forget you know this about me." It was a definite threat. Another reason why he liked her so much. "And speaking of families," she continued, "Leliana has another letter from your sister for you. This is the third one. If you don't respond, I wouldn't put it past our Spymaster to write a reply herself and forge your signature."

Cullen sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Does she go through everyone's letters or just mine?"

"Everyone's." Cassandra said matter-of-factly. "Consider yourself lucky. She actually _has_ written letters to my family and forged my name. I just didn't care."

"Thank you for warning me then. I will write home. I should. I will." Saying the words weren't as motivating as he'd hoped. He loved his family. They deserved better than what he'd given them of himself for the past decade, which was essentially nothing. But for the past decade there wasn't much of himself that was worth giving. There was still time yet to make things better though. To make himself better and live a new life.

_A new life still haunted by old dreams with the past lingering on you like the lyrium lingering in your blood..._

Cassandra sensed his mood circle back around to 'troubled'. "I came to you to find out what was bothering you but I seem to only have given you more to trouble over. I apologize."

"There's no need. It has helped to talk, thank you. The truth is my nightmares have changed and I'm not sure what to make of it. It disturbs me more than it should for harmless dreams."

"Nothing about dreams is harmless." She said. "We should take this seriously. Perhaps you should speak with Solas? I believe he has also counseled Evelyn about her dreams after what happened at Redcliffe."

"No." Cullen replied sharply, then he wondered if he'd said it too quickly. He didn't want a mage anywhere near his dreams, but he didn't want to admit to that aloud. It seemed a new life didn't happen simply because one desired it. He scrambled back. "I mean, no, it's fine for now. I'm fine. I'm just tired."

"It is late. You should retire...or perhaps find Lady Trevelyan? I've heard she often stays up late to polish your sword..." Cassandra was already walking away as she dropped her contribution to the merriment at the Commander's expense. He let the Seeker go and let the comment roll off his shoulders like all the rest as he started walking back to the village.

Cullen thought on the evening's conversation as he made his way to bed, snow crunching beneath his feet and cold wind singing past his ears. Dreams and Evelyn. Lyrium and Evelyn. Family and Evelyn. This new life of his was developing a theme.

When he was finally alone and undressed, laying atop cool sheets, his eyes too heavy to hold open, he decided that if every measure of difficulty he experienced from this point forward was accompanied by an equal measure of Evelyn, he could endure anything, troubled dreams included. So he relaxed as much as he was able and he let the Fade take him, bracing himself against what would come with thoughts of her.

xxxx

Evelyn wandered the derelict halls of the nameless abandoned fortress. It was practically her second home now in the Fade for as much time as she spent there. She was searching for Solas. After she'd gone all around the place twice, she ended up back in the courtyard, still alone.

She decided to practice her forms. Drawing the hilt of the Templar sword she carried with her, in waking moments and in dreams, she concentrated. Her power took shape and forged itself into a blade of light and magic. Forming her weapon was easy now, familiar, and unlike all of her other magical abilities, it brought her calm. To be able to focus the chaos inside her into something solid and tangible was more control than she'd ever hoped to gain when she made the decision to train as a mage. And it was Cullen who'd given her this control with his gift.

With even breaths in and out she readied herself and then started dancing. She stepped and swung the way she'd been taught, using both the lessons learned from Cullen and those learned from Solas.

Evelyn wasn't sure she knew what being truly free felt like, but if she had to guess she would say it was very much like these moments. The fear and self-loathing she carried with her like chains disappeared for a short while as she used her body and her magic as one, without limit and without reservation.

She was so engrossed in her exercises, she didn't notice Solas approach. When he called out to her, she turned and lowered her blade. His usual unemotional air of authority was entirely absent as he stalked towards her, face drawn into heavy lines of urgency and concern.

_Something is wrong. _

Her fist tightened on the grip of Cullen's sword, the templar runes pushing back at her with solid reassurance.

"Is my da'mi ready to use her real blade and live up to her name?"

Immediately Evelyn extinguished her weapon and sheathed the hilt in her belt. "What's wrong?" She asked, the words thick with trepidation.

"We need to wake." He ordered and with a wave of his hand the walls and sky started to disappear and go black leaving them in a formless space. Suddenly she felt herself falling back into reality and she heard Solas say, "_He comes_."

xxxx

_"He's coming."_

Cullen squinted in the darkness looking for the source of the statement. He didn't know where he was but he could smell damp and he could hear the faint drip of water against stone in the distance.

_"You have to wake up, now, please!"_

The voice sounded urgent. Cullen groped around looking for something to light the room he was in. _Is this a basement? A cell? Is this Haven? Therinfal? _He knew he was dreaming, but where was he and who was he here with?

_"You can prepare. There's still time. Might and magic marches slow and steady killing the little birds on their path but one escaped and flies swiftly. Wake now. Seal the sky and run. It hurts him if you live."_

"Who's there?" Cullen was able to speak, though his voice sounded far away. His eyes started adjusting to the dimness. There was someone close by.

_"You know me. I know you. Let me help." _

"I don't need help." A part of Cullen wondered why he would lie to himself in his own dream.

_"You need her. And she needs you. Stronger together than apart. She wakes now, ready and willing but scared and weak. Please, Cullen, please, wake up!"_

"You...you know my name?" Cullen advanced towards the dark figure and reached for his sword, but he never had a chance to draw it. Suddenly the form of a ghostly looking boy was before him, inches away, with dire and desperate eyes. Thin fingers gripped his shoulders with an unsettling strength and the whispered reply was delivered with force enough to knock him out of the Fade.

_"Yes. And you know mine..."_

xxxx

Evelyn woke with a scream stifled into her pillow. The mark glowed with an intensity she hadn't yet seen and it burned with a fire she hadn't yet experienced. She whimpered and chanted trying to compose herself. When she could tolerate moving, she grit her teeth and dressed, grabbed her weapons and went outside. Solas was already at her door.

"We need to wake the others. It is time to close the Breach." His tone did not welcome argument.

"The Elder One? Is that who's coming? We can't possibly…"

"Enough." He silenced her harshly, then pointed to others coming their way. "Look, there. Someone must have told your Templar."

xxxx

Cullen woke and jumped from his bed, dressing in seconds. He searched his head for the reason he so urgently needed to sound the alarm, but he knew he _must_. He'd had another dream. Another nightmare he couldn't remember. He fell back into consciousness with a feeling of absolute certainty that he must _act_. He let the overwhelming need carry him outside. He personally woke his captains, not even giving a reason, not able to give a reason, but they were loyal men who trusted him so they followed.

_Are they fools following a fool?_

He pushed the thought aside. Cassandra had told him he needed to take these dreams seriously. He marched towards the Chantry, his men scrambling after him, dressing and arming themselves along the way. Evelyn and Solas were standing together watching him approach. Now was not the time to question why the two of them were awake at this hour, so he just started barking orders.

"Go to the Chantry. We need to wake Leliana and Cassandra. There is…" _What? There is what? You have no fucking idea why you're sounding the alarm! What by Andraste's holy fire did you dream about?_

He was saved by the sounding of the Chantry bells raising the actual alarm. Leliana appeared from the building, walking swiftly, but her steps slowed when she saw the crowd already gathered. "Why are all of you here?" She asked suspiciously. "How could you have…?"

Cullen and Evelyn's eyes met, their mouths hanging open with unspoken explanations Cullen knew they were both trying to keep hidden. It was Solas who saved them from interrogation.

"The Herald's mark has activated unexpectedly, the Breach is destabilizing. We must act quickly." The elf lifted Evelyn's hand. She wasn't wearing her glove and indeed the mark was burning more brightly than Cullen had yet seen.

Leliana set aside her questions. "A pressing report just came in. Come to the war room."

xxxx

Evelyn followed in a daze. Inside the Chantry, they found Scout Harding being tended to by one of the healers. She'd taken an arrow to her shoulder and looked like she'd run through a gauntlet to get back to Haven.

Everyone assembled and gathered around the map laden table in the war room. Leliana explained the situation. An army was marching right for them, killing almost every Inquisition scout along the way, trying to make sure they were caught unawares. It was a miracle Harding had gotten through. It was a massive force, comprised of Venatori, rebel mages and Templars gone red. They were being led by a creature Evelyn had only heard of in her nightmares.

_The Elder One is coming._

Her eyes were fixed and glazed over staring down at the map of Thedas. She wasn't quite seeing, wasn't quite hearing, she thought she heard Cullen and Leliana arguing.

_'You allowed them to escape Therinfal!' _

_'We learned much by following them, Commander.'_

_"And where has that gotten us? Outnumbered and soon to be surrounded."_

More angry words and accusations, then others shouting out and interrupting. Evelyn wanted to leave. She wanted to leave and close the Breach and _fuck_ their arguing. She knew what needed to be done and she was prepared to do it. She would not let the future she saw come to pass. She clenched her fist against the pain of the mark and she chanted in her head.

_Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._

She repeated the last words over and over, her eyes closed now, lips moving silently. Time had passed without her and the room had emptied. She looked up when a gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder and the warm and imposing figure of the Commander stood before her.

"Evelyn." He said softly, as if he were waking a babe from sleep. "Have you been listening?"

"I, um, yes. I must close the Breach." The words were weak and not at all how she wanted them to sound. She had a job to do. She wanted to do it. If she had been born the way that she was to serve no purpose other than this, it was enough. It meant something. No matter who or what she was.

_Let mine be the last sacrifice. _

"I'll be with you and we'll have the Templars with us. I'll get you there and I'll bring you back. I swear it." Cullen reached out and held her marked hand tenderly between his own.

She stared up at him and studied his eyes. They were clear and determined and had faith enough for both of them. She swallowed hard, a bitter pill, seeing it there, his light, his life, his hope, in her, in them and it was lies. All lies.

He was giving her everything, promising everything, had everything to offer her in a future brighter than the one that still haunted her, but she had nothing to give him. Nothing but this. There was no future for her, but she could assure one for him. He deserved it. He deserved better than nightmares, uncertainty and lies. He deserved better than her. She would close the Breach and let it take her. There was no possibility in her mind that it could end otherwise. And hopefully hers would be the last sacrifice.


	21. Temptation and Salvation

**_Chapter 21: Temptation and Salvation_**

Despite fearful dreams, battle brewing and imminent danger, Cullen felt _good_. He'd never been able to tolerate inaction and it got worse after the blight and everything he'd suffered. Waiting around with an intangible threat hanging over his head was not a condition that sat well with him. But here, _now_, he was in his element. He had something to do and someone to fight and he had wide open spaces to do it in. He finished his last minute preparations while trying to contain the heady rush of blood lust coursing through him.

He, Cassandra and Leliana had finalized their plan of attack. Cullen would lead a group consisting of the Templars, Evelyn and Solas into the valley to assault the Breach. There was no clear path there, however, so Ser Rylen, commanding the bulk of their forces, would meet the enemy as they marched head on, allowing Cullen's team to slip past. If successful, Cullen and the Templars would rejoin the fighting as quickly as possible and try to flank the opposing soldiers.

Cullen stood in his tent, armor in place, shield on his back and weapon in his hand. He inhaled and exhaled slowly and in the habit of years he knelt. Leaning on his sword, he closed his eyes and prayed.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." In that moment at least, he believed the words and they felt right. "Blessed are…"

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written."

Cullen turned his head and found Evelyn. The Chant of Light spoken in her clear voice always seemed to hold a deeper meaning. He could chant until his throat ran dry and all the candles burned down, but it would never convey the same emotion, the same faith. The verses were twined with her soul somehow and she could use them as she used a weapon to strike down fear and doubt or as a gentle caress to soothe and comfort.

'Herald of Andraste' was a more fitting title than any of the people who called her that realized, but _he_ knew, _he_ felt it. He felt _her_ and, Maker help him, he _wanted_ her. Something in her had called out to him since the moment they met...and _now_ was a profoundly bad time to be feeling it so acutely.

He blamed the pending violence and the way it quickened his heartbeat. The threat of death always made one consider life more fully. He blamed her and her damned faith and how beautiful and perfect it was. Her hesitance was beautiful perfection in the way she overcame it with persistence. She was innocence tempered by knowledge and vulnerability controlled by strength of will. Balanced and beautiful perfection.

He found he couldn't rise from the ground. _Was he worshiping the Maker or her?_ He remained on one knee and stared up at her dressed and armed for battle. There was both softness there and a hard edge of determination.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your prayers, Commander. We'll need all we can get, I think. Everyone is ready. Or as ready as we can be." She was forcing her voice not to falter and seem weak. Her ignorance of her strength made her only more flawless to him.

He rose finally and walked towards her, sheathing his sword. When they were face to face, he focused on her eyes. He was dizzy with the pulse of battle rage looming and the primal sensations it stirred were fast overpowering his logic. He finally felt so _sure _about everything. He had a place in the world and an enemy to face, and he had Evelyn. Even though he knew the fight was not yet won, he sensed these were the first steps in the future he wanted. It was finally within reach.

So he didn't stop himself when his hand reached out to cup her flushed cheek and he let his whole body lean down and _in _until they were so close they were sharing breath. He felt the air between them vibrate when her body shivered at the heat they were about to create.

When he kissed her it was bliss. An all-consuming rapture that washed every thought from his mind and then filled it again with the waves of her aura. Her tender parted lips were so soft against his, _so good_, he cursed the numbness around his scar that stopped him from feeling every bit of her that he could. He pressed further and pulled her closer, arms wrapped around her now.

_Maker_, she tasted better than anything that had touched his lips since lyrium and better still than that. This was temptation _and_ salvation. Ruin and rebuilding. He would gladly lose himself to this, _to her_, and never look back.

Her soft song hummed inside his head. He wasn't so deafened by his own sensations that he couldn't hear it. He focused on it and on her, trying to pull his mind away from the delirious pleasure of his own flesh at the feeling of her held tight against him.

She had brought her arms around his neck and he silently reveled in her touch there, her cool fingers running through his hair like the night breeze he loved to walk in. She allowed herself to be molded by his embrace and her mouth was eager for his, parting when he pushed and surrendering when he delved inside.

She held him fiercely as he devoured her, both of them unafraid and unashamed for possibly the first time in their lives. She wanted this too, wanted him and it was so _right_, finally something was _right_.

But though they were right, the world was not. Too soon they were pulled back into that world by calls for the Commander and the Herald coming from outside the sphere of their impassioned bodies clinging to one another.

He was the one to separate them, a loathsome parting made bearable when he saw the look in her eyes. Desire and happiness and peace and it put him at peace to see it.

"Cullen…" She spoke, his own name whispered with a longing he shared and something else. Regret. Indecision. And the return of fear and shame in her that he would beat back with his sword if he could, it pained him so to see it. "I don't...I want...to _live_." Her dark eyes closed tight, but not tight enough to hide the pool of tears gathering in them.

_Did she think she was going to die? Fucking Void, no!_ Not after this, not now, not in his lifetime or any other. He would tear the Veil asunder himself to bring her back if the Fade dared to take her. Not when he'd finally found it, found his future, real and tangible and not an untraveled road darkened with doubt.

He moved his hands to either side of her head and touched their foreheads together, wishing he could feel her hair through his gloves. He captured her gaze and held it fast. "No one is dying. Stay close to me. Nothing will harm you, I _swear_."

Cullen didn't let her respond. He took her hand and exited the tent, ready for battle, more invigorated than he could ever remember feeling even with lyrium. He wouldn't allow one word of uncertainty or apprehension from her or from anyone. They would fight, they would close the Breach, they would live and he would have her lips again before the blood of their enemies dried on the ground.

His every step after that was taken in an elated trance. He issued orders with a distant voice and watched Rylen march out with their troops. The Templars fell into ranks behind Barris, who followed Cullen as he led them down into the Valley. Evelyn stayed close to him, as he had told her to, with Solas walking alongside her, speaking into her ear, likely listing the things she could expect from the magic of the rift.

They moved quickly and made good time with Rylen aiding their advance by engaging the enemy front lines. Cullen and his unit had only the demon spawn from the Breach to deal with as they moved through the valley. The Fade denizens were grossly outmatched by the Templars and though the resistance they met swiftly increased the closer they got to their goal, it was still less taxing work than Cullen had tackled in Therinfal.

When they came to stand before the Breach the fighting was at its thickest, but this time, next to his former brothers and with Evelyn still close by, never moving outside arm's reach, he felt bolstered and strong. There was no envy haunting each swing of his sword and the bitter taste of disappointment was utterly absent. The deep satisfaction of laying waste to the horrors assaulting them was as close to joy as he'd come in years.

As they worked, he always kept one eye on Evelyn. She was holding her own and had learned well how to fight and also better protect herself. Only twice did he have to assist her when she was outmatched and at no point did any of the Templars have to assist him with a more potent specialized anti-magic attack than he himself was capable of.

_You don't need the lyrium._

It was the first time he'd thought it and actually believed it. Before he even broke a sweat, he looked around and realized there were no demons surrounding them and Evelyn had stabilized the Breach enough to attempt to close it. Solas issued instruction to the Templars, but Cullen knew it was unnecessary. This is what Templars did. They would use their skill to beat back the Fade and they would do it on instinct alone.

Cullen felt them focus their powers. His chest swelled and his head reeled with the intensity of it. He stood firm and focused himself as well, determined to contribute what he could to silence at least part of the magic that Evelyn would be forced to combat. If he could spare her even a small measure of effort he would do so.

The Herald looked up at the Breach, but before she lifted her marked hand to the heavens she turned her gaze his way. Without thinking, he took her other hand in his and squeezed tightly, resolved to hold onto her no matter what. He saw her exhale and then she smiled. The sight of that alone should have been enough to push back all the evil there was to be found in this world or any other. She raised the mark and closed her eyes, magic crackling all around them like lightning. There was deafening noise and blinding light, then there was silence and darkness. He felt her hand relax inside his and he caught her when she fell.

xxxx

Evelyn opened her eyes to find golden ones looking down at her. She was held in Cullen's warm embrace and, though her mark burned, the sky was dark and clear. She was alive and the Breach was closed.

"We have to go. There's work yet to be done. Can you move?" Gentle words but firm. She nodded her head in assent and let Cullen help her up. "We need to get to Ser Rylen. He hasn't sent word."

They all followed Cullen, hoping to attack the enemy at its flank to assist the main Inquisition force, but they were met with resistance far too soon and it was far too intense. More than mere demons, a hoard of creatures descended on them as they tried to make their way out of the valley. They were giant and deformed and they pulsed with the red glow of tainted lyrium. Once Templars, now no more, they fought alongside the Venatori mages that she was all too familiar with. Rylen and his men had either been outmaneuvered or overpowered and Evelyn couldn't blame them, for the might of what they were now facing was petrifying. The air stunk with dark magic and her own magic inside her wept in pain at the feeling of the red lyrium flexing and shouting its dissonant song.

Cullen was beside her, a rock and a force all his own, as he cut down foe after foe. She followed his every step and every action, doing her best to help and to stay alive. She chanted, as was her way, loud enough so he could hear and she hoped it would help him drive back the chaos that must be encroaching on his senses as well.

The Templars fought valiantly, as Templars always do, even though some of their opponents had once been their brothers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ser Barris engaged with a giant_ thing_ distorted beyond that which would make him still human. As Barris fought, he didn't see one of the Venatori casting in his direction. Without thinking Evelyn ran, leaving Cullen's side and attacked the mage with her sword, but he disappeared in a flutter of wings and smoke. She was left disoriented and frantically tried to find Cullen again when she was caught in an iron grip from behind.

She smelled death and the jagged crystals of red lyrium protruding from the arm of her assailant dug into her. She struggled madly and screamed, uselessly trying to break free from the inhuman strength of the creature that had grabbed her. Over her own shouting she heard Cullen yell her name but before he could get to her the savage that held her suddenly went limp and she was free. She steadied her feet that had been lifted from the ground and spun to see who had saved her. She was met by the sight of the red Templar abomination falling to its knees, blood spurting in all directions from its slit throat, and behind him was the tall and slight figure of a boy, face hidden by the wide brim of a hat, wielding daggers in each of his hands.

The fighting had died down and the Inquisition Templars started to gather, finishing off the enemies that had fallen but still breathed, gasping on the ground. Evelyn raised her sword defensively at the boy who had saved her life. Even if she had thought to attack him, she would have stopped when she heard Cullen calling out to her.

"Wait! Stop, Evelyn, I know him, he's a..._friend_." It was a reassuring word, but the tone Cullen used was less than reassuring and his actions even less so as he inserted himself, his own sword drawn, between her and the stranger. The Commander then addressed the newcomer warily. "I know you..." Again, he didn't sound as sure as the words would have otherwise told. "from Therinfal."

"Yes!" The boy cried out and the relief in his voice was palpable. "You remember. I woke you from the Fade and I came to help. Do you remember, I want to help?"

Cullen paused. In the tense silence, as he considered the question, Barris and the Templars surrounded them, weapons drawn, awaiting their Commander's response.

Evelyn sensed Cullen relax and then he lowered his sword. He spoke loudly enough for all to hear him. "I remember this man. We met in Therinfal, he helped me to defeat the demon there. Stand down. We will hear what he has to say."

Without hesitation, the Templars obeyed. She knew precious little of what transpired in Therinfal, but it seemed these men had bonded over it as she had bonded with Dorian over the events in Redcliffe.

Then, instead of approaching Cullen, the boy approached Evelyn. Cullen stepped forward defensively still protecting her with his imposing form. The stranger sheathed his daggers and held his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, then he spoke, looking directly at her.

"I'm Cole. And you're _her_. Light in the dark, song sweeter than lyrium. I'm here to help. You're in danger." Cole lowered his hands and turned to Cullen. "They were too many and their tactics too bloody. A dragon in the sky and a monster leading them. The Elder One. He brought an avalanche crashing on your forces. Many dead, the rest forced back to Haven and trapped. He wants to kill you all down to the last. He'll bury this place in ice and he'll bury all of you with it. He'll take back the mark. It was his, not hers. But the Nightingale knows a way out. Always prepared, never caught without an escape. She's leading your people into the mountains. I can get you back to them, I know the way. We have to go, now!"

Commander Cullen did not trust easily, if ever he could be convinced to trust at all. Evelyn knew this. And yet, without so much as a moment to consider, he ordered them to follow Cole. So the man who trusted no one led those who trusted him without question onto the precarious mountain passes in the hopes of living to fight another day.

Cullen was holding Evelyn's hand now and she welcomed it, squeezing until her fingers went numb which only made her hold on more desperately. They were assaulted in continuous waves, as they climbed out of the valley but she never had to draw her weapon. Cullen shielded her and fought for her and she felt safer than she'd ever felt despite the circumstances.

And then, just as they reached the outskirts of the village, they saw it. A massive beast roaring and flying overhead. _A dragon to rival an Archdemon_, Evelyn thought, though she could not even truly conceive of such a creature. The thing swooped fast and low and there was just enough time for the Templars to get their shields up above their heads to save them from the fire that rained down upon them. She huddled close to Cullen beneath his own shield that he held aloft and she prayed. In a wild frenzy, she prayed as her heart raced. This was not an enemy they could fight. This was not a battle they could win and this new chaos unleashed on the world made her shudder and sicken as even the Breach hadn't done. When the dragon-fire receded, they were still offered no respite.

It started as a low rumble, distant, but growing into a terrifying din. Cole shouted out that they had to _run_ and they did, following him as quickly as humanly possible. Cullen dragged her more than she actually ran. She couldn't even see where they were going. The whole world was washed in white and she heard nothing but the thunderous racket of the mountain falling down around them. They ran and ran and they stumbled and they fell and then stood and ran again and Cullen never released her hand.

When the ground fell out from under them, she felt more than heard the shouting. She felt the gauntleted hands of Templars scramble to hold onto them, but it was to no avail. There was a slip, a lurch and then a paralyzing shock as her body dropped. In the next instant, she was pulled with such force as to steal the breath from her and she found herself wrapped in and surrounded by Cullen, holding her, covering her, shielding her as they fell.

She pressed her face into his armor and inhaled steel and the faintest whiff of lyrium as wind whooshed past her ears. She had only seconds to pray to the Maker for her Knight's life to be spared, even if it was in exchange for hers, before they landed. He bore the brunt of the impact against stone and ice, cushioning her body with his before the world went black for both of them.


	22. Healing and Clarity

**_Chapter 22: Healing and Clarity_**

Evelyn stirred. Cullen did not.

When she came to, she was still clutching his breastplate, curled atop him. She groaned and sat up, testing her limbs. She had no idea how far they had fallen. A cursory assessment revealed they were in some kind of cavern but their entry point was now filled with snow and debris.

"Cullen..." She leaned over his face and whispered his name. He was sprawled on his back, eyes closed, breath shallow. It was then she noticed the dark pool of blood beneath his head expanding and staining the ground.

Her heart leapt into her throat and panic gripped her. "_Cullen_!" She shouted it, not thinking that the noise might disturb the structure of their precarious location. With trembling fingers she felt at his neck for his heartbeat and found it thready and weak.

A madness overcame her in that moment. She couldn't see through it or reason out of it. She stared down at him, silent, body rigid, a fine tremor wracked her every muscle. Her magic sparked inside of her but it was well outside the realm of her control. She should be praying, chanting, begging for guidance or rescue but the words wouldn't come to her and she knew they were alone.

Solas had taught her nothing about healing. She'd never even asked. An enchanted blade on a templar sword would not save Cullen's life. She had only herself and her magic and Cullen only had her.

There was no hesitation when she cradled his head in her hands. For once in her life she didn't think about consequences or repercussions. She thought only of the man who had just saved her life, _who had brought her to life_ and if she had to bring down the Veil to breath life back into him then she would do so and damn the Maker himself if he tried to stop her.

She had no idea how to start, or what to do so she let her magic speak for her. She thought of the man lying dormant in her embrace and she let the _feel_ of him swell up within her. There was no fear of her magic. Only fear of losing him.

Her mana sought out the faint pulse of the blood in his veins and she latched onto the life still lingering there. She worked to make it stronger, beat by beat, pouring all of herself into it. She probed further, searching out some hurt, some injury she could combat. She was met with a muted but pervasive darkness, a dull ache, a lingering _craving_, all blunted, chronic, less acute, so she reached, stretched, and went deeper inside of him with her magic.

The longer she toiled, the more prominent the _whispers_ became. The chant of the blood that covered both of them now droned on and on, tempting her away from her uncertainty and weakness.

_There's a quicker way, an easier way. Are you sure of what you're doing? What if you harm him more? Your ineptitude will be the death of you both. Worthless self-loathing mage. Where has your sacrifice gotten you? You should be stronger, we'll help you be stronger...for him..._

Louder and louder the demons in her head prodded until she was sweating from the effort of ignoring them. The Chant still wouldn't come to her, her mind fumbling to find focus as she worked to heal Cullen. She opened her magic wide to him, to his darkness and pain, fighting to find the _new_ through the _old_ when suddenly she grasped it. Like the point of a knife she felt it, broken bones, rent tendons, torn flesh and with fevered intensity she set her magic to the task of mending it. What was broken, made whole. What was torn, stitched together. But she couldn't leave him just like that. Where there was craving she tried to weave solace, where it ached she tried to soothe and where there was darkness, she spent everything she had left of her mana to leave behind a little light in his wounded soul.

With her magic exhausted and her body bruised and weary, her hands went limp and she slumped over him. Everything was silent now. Peaceful. The urgent madness was gone and only relief was left behind that she was able to help the man she loved. Still unconscious, but out of the woods, Cullen inhaled and exhaled deeply, briefly stirred, then settled again. She gingerly laid herself down next to him leaving one of her hands to rest atop the mess of matted locks upon his head.

Evelyn's eyes fluttered shut and she marveled at how naturally the magic had flowed from her. Taxing, yes, but not tortuous, not vile. It made her wonder at her self-imposed asceticism. How could helping someone so good, so worthy of everything this world could give to him, be wrong? Magic existed to serve man. Is that not what she had just done?

Her fingers explored Cullen's damp curls. Her magic had also allowed her to know him in a way she hadn't thought possible. She'd _touched_ him, _felt_ him, that which he held deep within. She knew now the truth of his suffering and knew the strength of his reserves to endure. If her magic had done anything for him she hoped it not only saved his life here but eased some of the hurt he carried with him from long before they'd met.

But even if her attempt to heal his old wounds proved fruitless, she knew in her heart that he would be well again soon, at least as well as he had been. And then what? Hide what she'd done for him? More deception? Tell him? Could he accept her still? He'd kissed her, protected her, almost laid down his life for hers...

She went back and forth in her head, her thoughts circling around and around until she started to feel sick with doubt. The weight of lies was heavy and though, at first, they had been imposed upon her, she eventually wilfully perpetuated them. The reality of her guilt started crushing the hope inside her once again.

She was too tired to think any longer. She couldn't wrap her head around what actions she should take in the next few minutes, let alone once Cullen woke, let alone the direction of her life long term.

It was then that the Chant found its way back into her head. So she lay beside Cullen, singing softly to him, until sleep took her.

_"I have faced armies with you as my shield. And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except your absence." _

_xxxx_

Cullen heard singing in his dreams. Clear as Chantry bells he heard it. There was a light breeze tickling his skin and though his eyes were closed he saw bright light from behind his lids. He had no desire to open his eyes and ruin what might be his first good dream in years. He felt relaxed and at ease as if he was floating in the air and not weighed down by..._everything_. As all good things must, however, the singing stopped and was replaced by murmured voices. He could feel himself waking, reality inserting itself into his slumber.

When he crossed to the other side of the Veil, awake now, he heard the same voices drawing nearer. He was no longer floating, but laying on his back on the cold ground. He blinked away the last vestiges of sleep and saw snow and ice all around. He tried to sit up, but was immediately met with a horrible stabbing sensation in the back of his head. He lay still, adjusting to the intense rush of pain. When he was able to think clearly again, he moved all of his muscles in turn hoping nothing was permanently damaged. He remembered trying to outrun a dragon and an avalanche and he remembered falling and pulling Evelyn close hoping to keep her safe.

_Evelyn_.

"Evelyn!" He shouted and sat up too quickly, the world spun and nausea rose in his gut. He turned and retched and as he spit out onto the ground he noticed hands on him, helping to keep him upright and holding him steady while he vomited. When he was finished he croaked out Evelyn's name again, his eyes still unable to focus, the blurred vision making his headache even worse. He fought back the urge to keep vomiting.

"She's here Commander." It was Ser Barris. The Templars had found them. "She's fine, Solas is tending to her, she's not hurt, but he said you took a bad blow to the head and injured your leg. It isn't broken though and there's a lot of blood but he thinks you'll be fine. Damn lucky you two. The Maker himself must have guided your fall. We were certain you couldn't have survived."

Cullen felt certain he was the Maker's own personal experiment. How many times could a man be brought close enough to the Void to smell its stench and then be yanked back? But this time, his feelings on the matter were different. This time he whispered a prayer of thanks under his breath as Barris helped him to stand. Each time he'd cheated death in the past he wondered why he was spared and why it even mattered. He wondered if he wouldn't have been better off not being quite so lucky. This time, though, he was grateful for his dubious luck because it brought him back to her.

Evelyn was being helped up by Solas and Cole. True to Barris' words, she appeared well, if exhausted. Their eyes met and she smiled reassuringly at him. A contented calm settled inside him at the sight. There would be time enough to be with her again in the way he wanted when they were safe. For now, it was his duty to command.

He leaned heavily on Ser Barris, unable to bear weight on his left leg. "Report." He ordered.

"Haven is buried, Commander. Your friend Cole was able to lead us out of the area before we were buried with it, and then we came searching for you. He's...difficult to understand but I think he says that Sister Leliana and the rest of the Inquisition forces, along with those among the civilians who made it out of Haven, are camped further up in the mountains. If the weather is kind we should be able to follow their trail and rejoin them but even then Maker knows where we'll go from there. These mountain paths are treacherous. I'm not sure we can make it back down safely and going deeper into the Frostbacks isn't an option."

It was a great deal of information to process, not the least of which was explaining Cole. How was he supposed to explain something he didn't even understand himself? He remembered the boy vividly now and exactly the role he played at Therinfal and in his dream that woke him before they'd set out to close the Breach, but that didn't explain who he was and where he'd come from. He was no mage, Cullen was was sure of that, and he was no demon Cullen was just as sure. Fortunately no one among them seemed to be questioning his presence at the moment, especially since they'd all witnessed him saving the Herald's life and then saving all their lives by leading them to relative safety.

When Evelyn demonstrated she could walk unassisted, Solas and Cole separated from her and she approached him.

"Ev..._My Lady_, are you well? Can you travel?" He asked, trying to contain the emotion in his voice at seeing her unharmed.

"I should be asking you that question, Commander." She answered, coming along side him and taking his other arm on her small shoulders. She and Barris helped him forward so he could attempt bearing weight, but it was unsuccessful. "Will you...will you let Solas try and heal you, Commander?" She asked tentatively.

He wanted to say no, but he couldn't be the one to slow them down in the freezing cold, so he bit back his pride and relented. The elf worked quickly and efficiently and though Cullen didn't find the experience of magic coursing through him pleasant, he was relieved when his dizziness subsided and he could walk unassisted.

After taking stock of what supplies they had on them, they set out immediately and worked their way out of the caverns onto the open mountain paths. They followed the trail of snuffed out fires left by the bulk of the Inquisition. They made better time than Cullen anticipated but it was still him that slowed their pace. Despite being healed by Solas, he walked with a limp that would take time yet to heal on its own completely. Even with his last draught of lyrium far behind him, his body's resistance to magic still lingered as so many things from his Templar days did.

One thing he was glad to still have with him was his wilderness survival training. All Templars were made to learn how to hunt mages if it became necessary, which meant learning how to travel lightly and quickly. He knew their group would be able to make the journey through the mountains for this reason alone. He didn't expect Leliana and Cassandra to have made it far with a much larger and a much more mixed group. What he did not expect was that Evelyn seemed to have the same Templar survival skills.

She tackled the journey with her typical stoic determination, aiding those still nursing injuries, helping to erect shelters when they had to bed down or wait out a snow squall, and demonstrating knowledge of nature and terrain that should not have been on the books for a Chantry initiate to learn.

Most of the Templars held her in high regard for her status as the Herald of Andraste, but it was during their forced march through the frozen wilds of the Frostbacks that they grew to respect her as a competent soldier-in-arms.

Cullen felt they were getting close to the main party when a storm hit them and they had to take cover. They huddled inside makeshift shelters they'd put up along side a row of tall evergreens. Neither he nor the other Templars were much affected by the precipitous drop in temperature, but Evelyn sat shivering close to a small fire that Solas had started for her.

Cullen watched her trying to fight off sleep. Her head would nod, her eyes would drift shut and then she'd jerk herself awake and force them back open. Eventually, she noticed him staring and it gave her a reason to get up and make her way over to him. She shielded her face from the sideways driving snow with his cloak that he'd given her as soon as they'd set out. She'd protested of course, but he knew she was grateful for it now.

She sat next to him and gave him a shy smile. The pull of it on her lips brought back a torrent of remembered sensations; the way those soft lips felt pressed against his, the way she tasted, the way she parted them for him. He had to fight the urge to grab her and claim them again. What he did allow himself to do was put his arm around her shoulders and gather her in. At least he could help keep her warm. It was as good an excuse as any.

"The men are in awe of your fortitude. They knew you were capable, but I doubt they expected you to share such similar training as them." Cullen felt her stiffen against him and he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, but after a pause she answered.

"My brother wanted to make sure I could survive if...anything happened." As always Cullen knew there was more she wanted to say, but when she didn't he didn't push. "Do you have family in Ferelden?"

"I have two sisters and a brother, all in South Reach, east of the Bannorn. Our parents died during the Blight. We're originally from Honnleath, but many were displaced by the darkspawn. My eldest sister writes me frequently actually. I'm not as good as I should be about replying. It's not going to make her happy having to find me again."

"Find you again?" Evelyn turned her head to look up at him.

"As I said, I don't write as often as I should, but I think her spy network rivals Leliana's. Wherever the Inquisition settles next, I'm certain to get a letter within a fortnight scolding me for not letting them know I survived another tragedy."

"That sounds wonderful, actually. You must have been a close family."

"We were." Cullen sighed. Seeing his family situation reflected in Evelyn's eyes brought things into focus. She'd gone through the pain of losing a beloved brother. He shouldn't be putting his family through that over and over again, thinking each time they'd lost him. And whereas Evelyn was effectively orphaned when her father turned his back on her, he was the one repeatedly turning his back on his family. It wasn't right. It shamed him. But perhaps this was one more thing that Evelyn could help him to change. Again, with her beside him, the path forward seemed so clear.

"When we have some time to breathe, will you help me write a letter to my sister? I never really know what to say and inevitably end up writing something like _'Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen.'_ It doesn't usually go over well."

She looked surprised, happy and humbled and it made Cullen have to battle back another urge to kiss her. "I...yes...of course, I'd be honored."

He sat holding her, sharing warmth against the cold. For the first time since the Blight, he felt good about the prospect of contacting his family because for the first time since the Blight he realized he wanted them to see him now. Not as a scarred or embittered Templar but as someone with a future.

With Evelyn tucked under his arm, he felt like his life was something worth living and sharing and not just suffering through. He _wanted_ to be a part of his family again. He _wanted_ to be a part of Evelyn's life. He _wanted_ this life he was building.

If he would even be allowed to build it. It was easy to set aside the larger problems looming. With his urgent attentions on Evelyn, survival, the injured and their trek back to their comrades, the reality of their new struggle had not yet come into full focus.

That changed abruptly when the storm cleared and Cassandra found them as they were breaking camp. The power of the lyrium resonating inside so many Templars made it easy for the Seeker to search them out. She led Cullen's group as quickly as they could travel back to where the Inquisition had landed, battered and bloodied, in a small valley dipping down in between the snow-capped mountain peaks.

Their casualties were many more than Cullen had hoped. He dove back into the fray of command despite Cassandra and Evelyn's protests that he join the wounded in the healers tents. Rylen's account of the fighting was horrific. The Inquisition had been met with an army of maleficar, twisted red Templars, demons and abominations the likes of which rivaled the darkspawn horde of a Blight. Cullen recounted the events of closing the Breach, fleeing into the mountains and finally offering an inept explanation for Cole. It spoke to the dire nature of their situation that a potentially dangerous being of suspect origin was met only with wary acceptance and reluctant trust in Cullen's assertion that the boy was going to stay with them. They had much bigger problems.

Leliana and Cassandra told their story. They thought they held the upper hand in the battle until the Elder One with his dragon drove them back. They learned his name and his purpose and they learned Evelyn's mark was his and not Andraste's.

The next hours were filled with futile attempts at strategizing, arguing back and forth, and snapping at each other, spilling venom amongst friends that would have been better spent on their new enemies.

Evelyn stood mostly silent while the rest of them quarreled, each offering solutions that the others eventually put down. When the bickering turned to shouting Cullen noticed Evelyn slip away. Not even caring what Leliana was yelling at him about anymore he threw his arms up in the air and left. Leliana did the same, with Josephine shaking her head sadly and Cassandra folding her arms where she stood and scowling down at the maps they'd salvaged from Haven.

Cullen wandered the makeshift encampment. The feelings of exhaustion and defeat were pervasive. So many small gains since the Conclave all smothered by one attack. The feat of closing the Breach had gone practically unnoticed in light of the appearance of a new seemingly insurmountable foe. His clarity of purpose and hopes for the future had, in the span of a rising and setting sun, turned to back into hopeless plodding forward into the unknown.

He walked to the edge of the camp and stood silent looking out over the snow drifts. He turned, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword, when he sensed someone approach him from behind.

"Why do you stand alone?" Cole asked. "Night to day, dark to light, chaos to order and doubt to certainty. You were stronger when you held her."

"I know." Cullen agreed and without saying another word he went to find her.

The camp was so silent that, when he heard the singing, he thought it was only in his head. He remembered the sound of it vividly from his dream just before he woke to find himself injured on the cavern floor. He followed the clear music past the healers tents to the area set apart from the living where those who'd passed into the Fade on their escape into the mountain had been laid to rest and covered with blankets, the ground too frozen to bury them.

Evelyn was by herself, singing the Chant to the dead. Far from the off key drunken crooning Cullen remembered from the night he gave her his sword, the song that spilled from her lips now was enchanting as nothing else Cullen had ever heard. There was no counting the hours he'd spent as a Templar listening to the Chant sung and singing it himself but, to hear Evelyn was like hearing it for the first time. Every note was pure, every word meaningful. While he and the Inquisition's other leaders could do nothing but argue, and the rest of their people do nothing but despair, the Herald took it upon herself to sing a heartfelt requiem to the dead.

Cullen dared not approach her, not wanting to interrupt her sacred task. Soon people started to gather. Leliana came looking for him with Cassandra and the two women could do nothing but watch as well, in awe of how _healing_ this Chant for the departed was. A crowd formed and people looked on, silent, reverent.

Cullen closed his eyes and focused on her words.

_"My Maker, know my heart. __Take from me a life of sorrow. __Lift me from a world of pain. __Judge me worthy..."_

At that last passage her voice faltered. She let out a shaky breath and he thought he heard tears in it. He moved forward through the crowd and came up behind her. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he sang the rest softly, only to her, urging her to continue.

_"Judge me worthy of Your endless pride. __My Creator, judge me whole: __Find me well within Your grace. __Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. __Tell me I have sung to Your approval."_

Evelyn leaned back against him and finished her song.

_"O Maker, hear my cry: __Seat me by Your side in death. __Make me one within Your glory. __And let the world once more see Your favor f__or You are the fire at the heart of the world a__nd comfort is only Yours to give."_

Even as her last note hung in the air Cullen put his arm around her and led her away through the crowd. He pulled her into one of the healers tents and they sat down on a cot. She looked down at her hand, flexing it beneath the glove she wore.

"Thank you for that." He said.

"For what?" She replied, sounding small and tired. "For giving the dead their requiem Chant?"

"Yes, for that. And for clearing everyone's head. You have an effect on them. On us. On _me_."

"I'm not their Herald. I'm not Andraste's. I'm just a...a.._.lie_."

Cullen lacked the words to tell her how wrong she was, and he thought no words even existed to tell her how important she was to them... _to him_. He had to show her. If their first kiss was one of longing and desperation, their second was one of comfort and love.

His previous ferocity fueled by imminent battle was tempered now and he took his time. She was just as soft, just as sweet and he drank of her, drowning himself in her welcoming sighs and tiny whimpers. He let himself_ feel_. And he wanted _her_ to feel the things he felt. All of the unexpected beautiful things that he was unable to put to words were trapped inside him, so he let them out through his lips in a kiss instead.

He knew exactly when she surrendered to the force that was drawing them together. Even as he felt hot tears run down her cheek, her arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer. He couldn't help the languid groan that escaped him and he would have happily repeated it if he hadn't heard the shuffling of someone else entering the tent and clearing their throat.

Evelyn sat back and hung her head demurely, covering her kiss-swollen lips with her hand. Cullen hovered, facing her, frozen for just a moment before he turned a withering glare towards their intruder.

To her credit, Cassandra looked remorseful at interrupting their stolen moment. "Commander, you're needed…"

"Yes, I'm sorry, of course." He mumbled. He leaned towards Evelyn, who was still blushing, her eyes turned away. "Please sleep?" He asked her, hoping that rest would alleviate her remaining self-doubt that his kiss could not drive away.

She nodded her head. "Only if you promise the same?"

"I'll try." He said, completely sincere, no longer fearing the Fade, before he rose and left with Cassandra.

xxxx

Her path into the Fade was fitful. She wavered between sleep and wakefulness for what seemed like hours before the Veil fell heavily behind her, shutting out the waking world. She found herself still frozen to her core in the mountains surrounded by snow. The

moons were bright, casting shadows among the drifts. In the distance she saw Solas approach, his staff ablaze with Veilfire.

He came to stand beside her and extended his hand forward. "Walk with me?"

She followed silently. There were many questions she wanted to ask him but she felt too numb to care.

"Perceptions are very important, da'mi."

She looked at him as they continued to walk. Was this a lesson? Or a soliloquy? With Solas, she often had trouble distinguishing the two.

"You are perceived as a savior, even if you don't think so. A weapon, even if you don't wish it." Solas stopped. "And a leader, even if you would prefer to follow." He extended his arm again drawing her attention to the striking vista before them. "You're going to lead them here."

Evelyn took in the sight of a massive stronghold carved into the mountainside. Though weathered by centuries, it was still as powerfully imposing as it likely had been when first erected.

"What is this place?" She asked.

"You already know. I've brought you here nearly every night."

"This…" _This was where she'd been training all this time._ This fortress in the Fade. "It _exists_?" She was incredulous.

"_Everything_ in the Fade _exists._" Solas scolded her. "You're going to make this place a part of your reality on the other side of the Veil now, as it has been here. Lead them. Or let them languish. I think we both know what you'll choose."

In the next instant, she woke and sat up. She swung her legs down off the cot. Pulling Cullen's cloak around her, she left the tent to go find him. He would be with Cassandra and Leliana pouring over their maps, searching for an answer. Evelyn had one. And she would lead them there.

Solas knew her all too well.

xxxx

_That night, Cullen dreamt of blood. Rivers of it, flowing through the muddy trenches of a battle field. He dreamt of pain and loss. Recognizing too late, coming up short and arriving to the fight out of time and out of luck. He dreamt of family and friends and Evelyn. Of the ties that bound them and the paths they walked, intersecting and diverging. He dreamt of spite and anger. Burning fast and burning bright, consuming all in its path…_

xxxx

_That night, Evelyn dreamt of shadows. Thick and black, darkening her steps and blinding her way forward. She dreamt of whispers and lies. Wicked eyes and wicked hearts clawing at her from the Void, pulling, pulling. She dreamt of family and friends and Cullen. Of love and hate and the ties that bound the two. She dreamt of blood and spite. Burning fast and burning bright, consuming all in its path..._

* * *

_A/N: This is officially the longest chapter I've ever written! Thank you so much for reading! I'm really excited for the next chapter because I've been waiting FOREVER to get here... :D_


	23. Blood and Spite

**_Chapter 23: Blood and Spite_**

Pride was not a sin Cullen often fell victim to. Even before he started his training in the Order, his parents had taught him the benefits of being humble about one's accomplishments. As with many things in his life, however, this was changing, at least where it concerned Evelyn.

Nearly as soon as the Inquisition passed through Skyhold's gates, weary and half frozen after their trek through the mountains, Evelyn set to work. It was as if their new home had been hers all along and she found a place in it for every man, woman, child and animal. She was relentless in her care and steadfast in her devotion to the Inquisition's mission of conquering the new enemies of peace in Thedas.

When it was suggested that Evelyn take on the role of Inquisitor, she was supported by all factions under their banner. The Templars were vocal in their support, and even the initially reluctant mages fell in line behind her when they acknowledged that they had received no less of the Herald's time and attention.

And so, Cullen was proud. Proud of Evelyn and her accomplishments, proud of his role in shaping her, however modest it was, and proud that she was _his_. The task before them, of rebuilding the Inquisition up to a state fit to fight a war and restoring Skyhold to a functional military installation, was grueling work but, in rare moments of respite, when they were alone, she was his.

Sometimes, he would find her sleeping in the library face down in a dusty pile of books and he would carry her back up to her room and watch her sleep. Sometimes she would find him in the armory inspecting weapon stocks and place a plate of food in front of him, refusing to leave until he sat and ate. And more often than either of them should have, they would find one another in a lonely corridor or a crumbling battlement tower and just _taste_ each other. Without words, they would enjoy each other's company, learning their moods and movements. Learning how to touch and be touched and growing more and more comfortable stoking the flames and playing with the fire that burned between them.

Cullen always felt that his addiction to lyrium had come silently, creeping in over time and concealed by obligation. In contrast, his growing addiction to Evelyn was calculated and conscious and, above all, completely in his control.

The absence of lyrium was like an open knife wound in his chest, even after so many months. The absence of Evelyn, while not desirable, still felt good. When they were apart he could think about her and feel soothed. He could look forward to the times when they would be alone together and he enjoyed the anticipation of it. And when he was able to sate his need for her, each time he was left a better man than before whereas with lyrium he would only feel normal again with an accompanying feeling of destitution and dependence.

So when Josephine arranged a diplomatic visit to Denerim for the Inquisition to hammer out an official alliance with Ferelden, Cullen supported Evelyn representing them, despite the fact that he was essentially forbidden from accompanying her. Their Ambassador had made it clear any military presence would set the wrong precedent. This significantly limited Cullen in who he could send with the Inquisitor's party to keep her safe. As a result, he sent everyone he could think of to go with her who was not directly under his command. Blackwall and Cassandra by themselves would have been enough but he also made sure to include Solas, Dorian, Varric and Sera.

Vivienne was chosen to go as well to show that the Inquisition had the support of the mages. Cullen had thought Grand Enchanter Fiona would want to continue her leadership role but strangely, when she heard that the mission was specifically to meet with the Ferelden crown, she quietly bowed out. It was just as well, because Vivienne had fast become a natural leader among her kindred. For all her traditional leanings, she had the iron will it took to bring together such a disparate group. After the difficult road their freedom had set them on, the rebel mages appeared content now to assimilate into the Inquisition knowing they had a powerful and respected voice in Vivienne to speak for them.

Though he had no authority to do so, having abandoned the Order himself, Cullen promoted Ser Barris to Knight-Commander and sent him along also to speak for the Templar contingent within the Inquisition's ranks.

Cassandra supported the action. "You and Ser Rylen no longer call yourselves Templars. Ser Barris deserves to lead them and already has been. You've done the right thing." She said as she strapped her packs to the mount she would be riding on the journey to Denerim. Cullen nodded absently, his eyes on Evelyn across the yard where she was tending to her own departure checklist.

Cullen watched the Inquisitor exchange goodbyes with Leliana and Josephine. The last time they were apart for so long had turned out to be miserable for both of them. He hoped this would go better. _At least they would have a happier reunion to look forward to this time,_ he imagined as he remembered their experience sharing sickness in the woods.

Cullen was staring at Evelyn so intently he didn't notice when Sera came up behind him. She slapped him on the back harder than such a small thing should be able to do. He coughed, startled, and Sera patted him again just as hard. "Don't you worry Cully Wully. I'll look after your tasty little Quizzie for you." The elf licked her lips and leered inappropriately.

Cullen leaned down and tried to speak as quietly as possible so as not to be overheard. "Sera, I should not have to tell you that the Inquisitor's _peach _is _off limits_."

Sera laughed loudly, sputtering and slapping her knees, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot. "Right, right, Commander Kissy Lips, I get it. Her peach. Your sword. Just don't wait forever, yeah? Gotta harvest that fruit when it's ripe."

Cassandra, who had clearly been eavesdropping, snorted. Cullen shook his head and walked away to speak to Evelyn, who called out when she saw him coming.

"Commander! I just remembered we still haven't found time to write a letter to your sister. I'm so sorry! It's important. We should do it now, before I depart..."

Cullen touched her arm gently. "It's alright. I'll write her something quickly to let her know I'm alive. She's used to it by now. I'll write her a real letter when you return and can help me come up with a persuasive apology for my years of gruffness."

"Alright, but I am so sorry. It's just that when we're together…" He could tell she was trying not to smile, biting her bottom lip and looking everywhere but at his face.

He moved his hand to her chin and tipped it up catching her gaze. "I know. We tend to get..._distracted_." For a moment, he thought he saw a fleeting insecurity behind her dark eyes. "A _welcome_ distraction." He qualified, keeping his tone low. He let go of her chin, reluctant to part but already looking forward to when they would be together again. He raised his voiced. "Maker go with you, my lady. Good luck and be safe."

xxxx

_You're weak. So weak. _

Evelyn's horse plodded slowly along at the back of their party. The others were talking, bantering, feeling refreshed and renewed after settling into Skyhold. Evelyn felt anything but 'settled' so she removed herself and her brooding so as not to darken the mood.

If left to her own devices, she would have stayed by Cullen's side indefinitely, serving no purpose, content to bask in his affections. She was grateful when Josephine arranged this mission for her, thankful she would be forced to step away from the hornet's nest she insisted on stirring.

No matter how much she busied herself in their new home, no matter how much she tried to keep her distance from him, he would always find her. But the blame wasn't entirely his. Far from it. Without even thinking sometimes, she would seek him out. They were like moths drawn to a flame and indulging in their moments together made her so _happy_. Each touch of his lips to hers, each hesitant brush of his fingers, each bold press of his body against her, made her want to keep telling her lies a little longer.

She frowned and looked up at the blue sky that was mocking her with its brightness. _What was she doing?! Where was this going?!_ Nowhere good. _But it felt so good!_ The pained sigh she let out must have been louder than she expected because she drew Dorian's attention who was riding just a bit ahead of her.

"Thinking of your lovely Templar, my dear?" Dorian's question seemed just as mocking as the sky.

"He's not a Templar!" Evelyn snapped, but she immediately regretted her tone. It wasn't as if anything would be easier if he _hadn't_ once been a Templar. "I'm sorry Dorian, I'm not very good company right now I fear."

Dorian brushed off her rudeness. "No apologies necessary. New love wreaks havoc on one's sanity. The anticipation, the uncertainty, the urgency, the _longing_. It's maddening. And _delicious_." He purred.

"Delicious? You make it sound horrible!" Dorian couldn't know how accurate he was and why exactly it would bother her so much.

"Dearest Evelyn, you're only suffering right now because you're the type to favor _predictability_.

Love is unpredictable. But that is a _good _thing. Else we'd never expand our horizons. We can't choose to love, it just happens. We must simply accept it and let it carry us along. Even if it carries us to places we didn't ever think we would go. And you should be writing this down. It's brilliant. And eloquent."

Despite her current sour disposition, she smiled.

Dorian laughed and the rich sound of it made her smile spread. "There now. All better. I simply don't know what you'd do without me!"

Dorian always seemed to know when she needed to be distracted from troubling thoughts even if he didn't know the substance of them. His words might have been in jest but they were very true.

She replied with more sincerity than humor. "I would be lost, clearly."

"Clearly. Now I will leave you to your wicked daydreams about our Commander. Should you find yourself in need of suggestions in that regard, I am available for consultation."

Evelyn wished bitterly that it was so simple.

xxxx

When a letter arrived at Skyhold addressed to "The Inquisition' from Dorian's father, it drew notice. Apparently Halward Pavus' relationship with his son was less than cordial, though Cullen was not privy to the details.

The correspondence detailed how the Magister was assaulted on the road from Qarinus to Minrathous. It was Venatori. Dorian's father was known to publically oppose the cult so it was no shock he was targeted in his own right given his position. The fact that it was now common knowledge his son was in the south fighting with the Inquisition was more than likely a secondary motivating factor. Fortunately Magister Pavus was no passive target and was able to escape the incident with severe but survivable injuries.

Cullen read Leliana's report on the matter twice. That Dorian's father was attacked by Venatori in Tevinter seemed to have no direct effect on the Inquisition's activities. In fact, it stood to benefit their efforts. If an influential Magister started taking his own actions against the Venatori, and hence The Elder One's influence in Tevinter, it could only help their cause. When Evelyn returned to Skyhold, they could discuss how to aid those actions further if necessary.

Following Leliana's standing orders that any report from her be burned upon reading, Cullen rose from his desk and tossed the parchment into the fire. He sighed deeply as he watched the pages shrivel to ash and then he moved to the arrow slit behind his desk to look out across the mountains. The sky was getting dark earlier than normal, heavy with ominous clouds that threatened a downpour. Frankly, he was glad to see the sun retreat. Since Evelyn's departure the days had seemed too long already and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and attempt sleep.

His hopes for turning in early, however, were dashed when he heard shouts and commotion in the courtyard below him. The only company, other than the Inquisitor's, currently out in the field on assignment was The Iron Bull's Chargers minus The Iron Bull himself. Bull had been assisting Leliana, with business likely better left a mystery, but he had allowed Cullen to deploy the Chargers under the leadership of his second in command Krem to help with the salvage efforts at Haven.

Cullen descended from his office to investigate the noises and found that it was in fact the Chargers limping in through the large gates. At least, what was left of them.

Cullen ran down the rest of the way, calling for the healers and for help carrying the injured. They were covered in days old blood and they reeked of defeat and mourning.

"What in the Void happened?" He shouted at Krem who was helping one of his comrades stumble along but, as both of them looked dead on their feet, it was unclear who was helping who.

"Ambushed on the road, Commander. Red Templars. Came out of nowhere, had us surrounded."

"You were supposed to be with the relief unit stationed near Haven. Why did you return without sending word?" Cullen could feel the agitated pulse of his quickening heartbeat. Suspicion showed on the deepening lines of his brow. There was something wrong.

It was Krem's turn to look suspicious. "We were following the new orders we received. To clear some wolf packs off the mountain passes for the pilgrims coming to Skyhold."

"I had men clear those paths weeks ago." Cullen felt an ominous sensation of dread rise inside him. "Who gave you these orders?"

The volume of Krem's voice elevated as the reality of what happened to them became clear. "It must have been a fake order. It was a trick! We got the message from one of Sister Leliana's people. At least we thought it was one of her people." Krem's anger bubbled over. "I lost six good men before we were able to escape!"

"Tell me everything that happened." Cullen growled. "Who was this agent of Leliana's? What did these orders say, exactly?"

"I have your answers Commander." Cullen turned at the familiar prosody of Leliana's voice. Her face was half hidden by her hood, but even then he could see a dark menace in her eyes. "We need to talk. The rookery. Please." Leliana's tone suggested there was no time to delay.

Cullen ordered Krem to the infirmary and left the yard with Leliana just as Bull was rushing towards them to aid his crew.

When the two advisors entered the rookery, they were alone but for the many birds calling and flapping their wings. Leliana sat down immediately and began writing a missive. Cullen started talking even as she rolled up the parchment, sent it off with a crow and sat again to pen another.

"Who is this false agent Krem received orders from? The Chargers were singled out and attacked. Why?"

Leliana replied, but did not look up from her letter. "The agent was someone who was revealed to be duplicitous shortly after we established the Inquisition in Haven. The man was for sale. He could no longer be trusted. I had planned on_ taking care of him_, but Lady Trevelyan intervened and asked me to find another solution that wasn't so final. I had him imprisoned but when we were attacked he managed to escape. My people have already found and eliminated him, as I should have done in the first place, but it seems I was too late. I promise I shall not make the mistake of letting the compassion of others affect me again." She signed and sealed the second letter with an angry flourish and then it too was sent off into the night.

Cullen had to agree with the Spymaster even though it pained him to see such a devastating outcome from Evelyn's tender-hearted request. Mercy always had consequences. "And the attack? I have an entire unit digging out Haven. Why were the Chargers separated from the rest of the Inquisition troops? Are they in danger as well?"

Leliana continued to frantically write. "I've just received an urgent message from Denerim. There was an attempt on the Queen-Consort's life. She's fine, the King was with her and killed the would-be assassin himself. It was a Venatori spy. Alistair sealed off the capital and called troop reinforcements into the city. If we're going to prevent any further loss of life we must move quickly."

Cullen blinked and narrowed his eyes in confusion. "That is extremely troubling news." He said, and indeed it was, but a Venatori presence in Denerim and threats to a monarch's pregnant wife seemed a separate and larger issue that did not answer his original question.

Leliana seemed as irritated by his inability to follow her thoughts as he was irritated by her cryptic allusions. "It is relevant to our current situation, Commander, I assure you." She looked up at him now, her expression intense, ink dripping from her quill on to a third half written missive. "Corypheus is going after those individuals the Inquisition's Inner circle holds dear. Dorian's father was the easiest to attack, being in Tevinter, and despite their strained relationship it was obvious retribution for Dorian's success in foiling the plot in Redcliffe. Bull and I have been making headway in sabotaging the enemy's scouting and spying operations so we were targeted next. The Chargers are the only family The Iron Bull knows. And Elissa Therein is _my_ family." Leliana's voice grew tight. "The Pentaghasts, Josephine's sister in Orlais, Bann Trevelyan in Ostwick, they are all at risk, but because of your actions at Therinfal, defeating Envy and denying Corypheus the bulk of the Templar force, I fear _your_ siblings in South Reach may be in more urgent need of protection. He's trying to weaken us through our blood ties out of spite…"

If Leliana continued to speak, Cullen didn't hear. He raced down from her tower and called for his captains. He gave Rylen command of Skyhold and had a heavily armed cavalry unit readied to accompany him across Ferelden. It was a long way to travel but he wouldn't, _he couldn't_, stop until he saw his family safe. All this time he'd ignored them, hoping to keep them from being hurt by seeing the cynical bastard he'd become and just when things were changing, he had inadvertently put them at risk of real harm.

The next hours were a blur of activity with the disjointed and disorganized thoughts that came with being blindsided repeating over and over again in his head. He could get there. He would get there. Leliana was sending word ahead. Her scouts would keep them apprised.

If the Inquisition lost this round what were they left with? A Spymaster whose last tiny flame of mercy was snuffed out leaving behind nothing but cold darkness. A Commander whose diligent execution of his duty had for one final time stripped him of everything worth fighting for. _He had to get there first_. But the Venatori were already in Denerim. They were closer. And they were nearer to Evelyn as well…

_He had to get there first_.

Fully armored, sword and shield on his back, helmet in his hand, Cullen inspected the men who would be going with him one last time before they departed. At the end of the line of soldiers stood The Iron Bull. His giant axe was perched on his shoulders, vengeance seethed behind his one good eye, and when he spoke his voice was thick with fury.

"You're not leaving without me, Boss. _You don't fuck with family_."

xxxx

Scout Harding found them camped just outside Denerim's gates. Evelyn and her party had arrived at the capitol to find the city locked down, with no one allowed in or out. Sera managed to discover that there had been an assassination attempt on the Queen, but as to the details and whether or not they would even be allowed into the city let alone the palace were all unknowns. Evelyn hoped Harding had some information for them so she could decide if they should wait or return to Skyhold.

"I can get you into the city, Your Worship, but it isn't going to be for the diplomatic talks. Sister Leliana and the Commander want you safe inside somewhere for the time being. They made arrangements with the King. We can't risk being out in the open for a return trip to Skyhold at the moment."

At the mention of Cullen's wishes, Evelyn had a strong urge to follow Harding into Denerim and ask questions later, but Cassandra was not so easily swayed on so little information.

"Has something happened? There's more to this report. Out with it."

Harding hesitated, judging the wisdom of revealing what she knew in front of everyone. Eventually, Cassandra's demanding glare persuaded her. "There's been movement by the enemy. Corypheus sent Venatori agents into Denerim to try and kill the Queen who, as you know, is very close with Sister Leliana. Right after we received word of the attempt, the Chargers were lured into the mountains and hit hard by Red Templars. And before that, a letter from Minrathous brought news of an attack on Magister Pavus." Harding inclined her head to Dorian who was standing next to Evelyn listening to the report. His eyes briefly went wide but that was the only reaction the mage provided at mention of his father. Harding quickly added, "Lord Pavus is fine, but Sister Leliana feels the theme of these attacks is obvious. Rather than engaging us full force again, Corypheus is trying to pick off people connected to those who have opposed him directly. Our scouts sent word ahead to everyone's families in the inner circle just in case, including Ostwick, Your Worship. The Commander deployed protection forces, so until they sound the all clear, it's recommended that you lay low here."

"The Commander…" Evelyn's eyes drifted away from Harding into the distance. "The Commander opposed The Elder One at Therinfal." And with the words spoken, it hit her. "His family. He has family in South Reach. Are they in danger?"

"The Commander's on his way, Your Worship. He's riding hard, stopping at Inquisition camps en route just to check in and change horses. He'll get to them. We don't have any Inquisition units stationed in South Reach, but there's a Ferelden army outpost at a small fort nearby. They wouldn't let a town get attacked outright."

"No!" Evelyn was shouting now. "No, the King called in those troops to garrison the city. Cullen won't make it in time if Venatori and Red Templars are already here. We're closer, we have to go!"

She didn't even wait for Harding or her companions to weigh in. They had put her in charge and what she'd said was true. Cullen would never make it to his family in time coming all the way from the Frostbacks. If the Elder One's agents could infiltrate Denerim and almost murder the queen, a single family in a small town stood no chance. Evelyn could not allow that to happen. She couldn't allow it to happen to any anonymous innocent, but especially not to Cullen's family.

She would never be able to see her relationship with the Commander through. They had no future. She had no future with him or any other future to speak of, as she was, marked by a demon, cursed with magic, and tainted by lies. She couldn't be Cullen's future, but she could ensure that he would still having meaningful ties on which to build one when he was ready for them. Let Corypheus have the vipers in Ostwick that shared her name. She would make no moves to preserve them but she could preserve Cullen's family for him. He deserved that much from her at least.

The Inquisitor rode out without another word. If the others were questioning or protesting her actions as they hurried to scramble after her, she never heard them, nor did she care.

xxxx

Cullen paced the short length of the small Inquisition camp. This would be his last stop before riding to South Reach. The outpost was makeshift and had no horses they could take, so Cullen and his men were forced to rest before setting out again in the morning. They'd ridden nearly without stopping across the breadth of Ferelden and at each stop to change their mounts Cullen demanded a report on the latest sightings or movements of the enemy. There had been no information at all as of yet, which worried him more than anything. He knew Harding had made it to Denerim to warn Evelyn and her party so Cullen prayed they were already safe inside the capitol under protection of the King until he and Leliana could secure the situation.

His hopes were dashed when a scout came running up to him with a report. "News Commander, on two fronts." The man handed Cullen a folded piece of parchment, but started summarizing anyway. "Rift activity and Red Templars spotted coming up through the Brecilian Forest heading towards South Reach. And…" The man hesitated.

"And?" Cullen demanded, in no mood to have his restraint tested.

The scout swallowed hard. "And Harding reports that the Inquisitor and her party left Denerim. And are riding towards South Reach."

Cullen threw down the report and roused the whole camp with angry shouts and impatient orders. _Why?_ _Why did he think she would listen and stay safe?_ She was doing this for him, for his family, putting herself at risk.

Never in his life were there ever half measures. He always stood to lose it all. His innocence, his sanity, his life. And now everyone he loved. It was all or nothing at every turn, his world forever balanced on the edge of a blade. As he rode out wild and rage filled into the night he prayed that the luck he'd scoffed at not so long ago held out and kept safe that which he held dear.

xxxx

The village was already burning. Evelyn and her people came upon the enemy on the road leading to South Reach. It was but a small fraction of the force that engaged them in Haven, but their numbers were inflated by the demon spawn spewing from the Rifts that the Venatori mages were apparently capable of opening up at will.

Evelyn couldn't close one tear in the sky before another would appear. When at first it seemed the goal of the Elder One's soldiers was only to raze the small town indiscriminately to the ground, upon realization that the Inquisitor had appeared to stop them, their tactics became all that much more targeted and vicious.

It was chaos and Evelyn knew she was being reckless. Her companions tried to keep up with her, all while intervening to save any residents they came upon who were trying to flee. When they arrived, an effort was already underway to move everyone into the nearby fort that was currently only being manned by a skeleton crew of Ferelden soldiers. It was difficult for the Inquisition members to stay together, each getting attacked, waylaid or drawn into helping the civilians by turns.

Evelyn tried desperately to find Cullen's family, asking, begging everyone she saw if they knew or had seen them. Most of the responses she got were either terrified silence or the backs of people's heads as they fled from her, the crazed Inquisitor armed with a sword and a glowing green hand.

The sounds of more rifts rending the Veil made Evelyn want to scream. She ran straight for the nearest one, heading deeper into the village in the opposite direction of the fleeing townsfolk. In the center of the town the last stragglers trying to escape were trapped by the demons emerging from a newly formed rift. Cassandra charged passed her to smite a rage demon bearing down on a family huddled near a market stall. She felt Vivienne's magic freeze a Red Templar in his tracks only to have Blackwall shatter the enemy into icy shards with his sword.

After the wave of monsters were eliminated, Evelyn closed her eyes and lifted the mark, discharging its energy into the sky. The rift crackled, imploded and then sealed itself. When she opened her eyes again, she was staring down the shaft of an arrow, pointed at her face.

A beautiful, tall woman with blond hair and fearless eyes narrowed her gaze at the Inquisitor from behind a longbow. "Who are you?" She demanded, but before Evelyn could answer, the arrow aimed at her suddenly shifted and then was let loose. She held her breath and would almost swear she felt the shaft graze her ear right before it found a home between the eyes of a Venatori mage not a dozen steps behind her.

Again before Evelyn could say anything, the tables had turned and the woman found herself the target of arrowheads, one from Sera and one from Varric. Sera had to look up at the other woman to address her. "Easy with the pointy bits there! We're the good guys, yeah."

"You're the Inquisition then?" The woman asked, contempt obvious in her voice, but she lowered her weapon. "If I ever see him again, I'll have to ask my brother to keep his wars a little further away from home."

"Your brother?" Even as she said the word 'brother', Evelyn knew immediately she'd found Cullen's family. "You're the Commander's sister! We came to find you as soon as we knew an attack here was planned. Your brother is on his way as well, but we were closer. Quickly, please everyone should get to the fort. These rifts will keep spilling demons and I'm the only one who can close them."

As punctuation to Evelyn's assertion, another rift opened up right in front of them. Mia nocked another arrow and immediately let it fly, though it was ineffectual against the formless wisps taking shape below the rift. She shouted to another group of people running towards them. There was a man, the spitting image of Cullen and also wielding a bow, followed by two other women, one of whom was holding an infant child. The rest of the Rutherford family ran to where Mia was standing.

Evelyn started urgently issuing orders to her people to get Cullen's family and any other civilians to the relative safety of the fort. She was almost relieved, almost allowed herself to think that now that she'd found Cullen's family she could protect them until he arrived. But the heavy sound of Red Templar boots and the sickening crash of green streaks of lightning coming from the rifts now rapidly materializing all around them brought into focus just how much the Elder One wanted the Inquisition humbled.

The normally imposing figures of corrupted Templars were suddenly dwarfed by the appearance of two giant Pride demons. Wave after wave of Fade denizens also materialized, lesser in size than Pride, but no less deadly in intent. If Corypheus' goal was to eradicate all those present by force of number and size alone, then victory was certainly within his grasp.

Everyone scattered, either attacking or defending against an attack. They were not an organized force. They were outnumbered and unprepared for such resistance. There were innocent people they needed to get to safety not the least of which was the only hope for Cullen's future that Evelyn was trying to salvage for him.

Her sword was heavy in her hand and the mark throbbed and burned as if it was calling out to the rifts to finally consume it. They fought. She fought. But they made no gains, no advances and they couldn't even retreat. She had no way to know when Cullen would arrive,_ if_ he would arrive in time. She used everything she had in her to seal the exponentially multiplying rifts and strike out against as many enemies as she could. Eventually the quivers of the archers, Cullen's siblings included, emptied, the mana of the mages ran dry and the resolve of their warriors, though formidable, faltered in the face of a hopeless battle.

It was a hopeless battle that she had brought them into. She hadn't given a thought to the consequences of engaging an enemy without knowledge of its capabilities. Acting on impulse alone and in defense of a doomed love, she had drawn her companions into the same inevitable fate as Cullen's family, with no way out.

A black despair washed over her as she hacked and slashed wildly at whatever enemy crossed her path. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the great claw of one of the Pride demons swipe broadly towards where she stood. She wasn't quick enough to avoid it and she was thrown into the air, but Solas was quick enough to cast a barrier around her, cushioning her fall. He ran over to her to help her up from the ground. Magic swirled around him in a powerful aura and it blazed in his eyes. He didn't let her go when she was on her feet. He squeezed her marked hand and pulled her in, biting out an accusation.

"You are a weapon who denies it nature!" He snarled. "Is this why you wasted my time? So you could die here with your would-be lover's family and doom us all? Make a choice, Inquisitor. Act. Or your enemies will act for you."

Evelyn didn't know what it was, in the end, to push her over the edge. Solas' anger at her ineptitude and willful denial of her nature. Cullen, her love for him, and the importance of protecting his family. Her companions, her friends, who in only a short time had cared for her, supported her and made her feel more a sense of belonging than she had ever felt. Or maybe it was simply that she was tired. Tired of being weak and tired of being bound.

When Solas released her, she released her grip on her sword and let it fall to the ground. She sheathed Cullen's parrying dagger that he had gifted her and removed his other gift from where it sat untouched in her belt since she'd received it. Untouched, at least, on this side of the Veil.

_In the absence of light, shadows thrive_. It was time for Evelyn to banish her shadows. No matter the consequences. It was an ending. And it was a beginning. Cullen's Templar sword was reassuring in her hand. Solid. Unwavering. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her magic through it and her spirit blade materialized in a blinding flash of light.

The other mages, The Seeker, and the demons all took notice and turned to see what new magic had entered the fray. None of them expected what they saw. If her companions reacted, she didn't see it and the reaction of their enemy was faster. The Pride demons all started stampeding towards her, her mark and now her magic tempting them. Staying as true to herself as she could, she chanted, aloud and deliberate.

_"Now her hand is raised. __A sword to pierce the sun. __With iron shield she defends the faithful. __Let chaos be undone." _

Evelyn Trevelyan raised her hand to the heavens and rained fire down onto the field of battle.


	24. Truth and Love

_**Chapter 24: Truth and Love**_

Evelyn's firestorm raged and balls of flame hissed through the air. They landed with terrifying precision directly onto her targets. Taming the reckless forces of her magic in the Fade was very different from manipulating it in the real world. There, it was loud and wild. Here, it hummed, low and even, and it moved with her. It_ needed_ her to put shape to its music and the feeling of finally commanding it was _sublime_. Everything felt possible. Everything was in her control. _She_ was the master of her magic, it did_ not_ master her.

Flames were still burning from her first attack when she charged. Piles of smoking embers were all that was left of several lesser monsters, but the Pride demons suffered only temporary damage to their formidable armor. She inhaled and stepped through the Fade. She exhaled and emerged from it slashing her spirit blade in a wide arc that tore into the legs of the massive creature. Ichor spewed out and the beast roared. The thing turned and swiped its claws at her but, she was faster. She snapped out of reality and then back in, far from its grasp.

Her head whipped around to find Cassandra, expectations born of habit, of comfort, of camaraderie, waiting for the Seeker to launch her offensive and weaken the demon's defenses. But the rhythm of fighting alongside one another was broken by the insertion of Evelyn's magic. Cassandra's sword didn't strike. Their archers' arrows didn't fly. Her fellow mages didn't cast. At least at first.

When the demon swung at her again, she didn't have to dodge the blow a second time. Dorian let loose a barrage of energy bolts from his staff. The demon staggered, giving Evelyn enough time to pull back while it recovered. All the eyes that had been trained on her were now focused incredulously at the Tevinter who was_ laughing_. It was fully voiced and boisterous, accompanied by a huge smile and eyes squinted nearly shut with amusement. He pointed at Evelyn and yelled loudly enough to be heard from South Reach to Skyhold.

"Ahahahahaha! She's a _mage_! Hahahaha! She's a _fucking_ _mage_!" He didn't stop laughing even when the demons started to swarm again, he just raised his staff and attacked, cackling all the while.

The bizarre and irreverent response must have jostled the others out of their shocked inaction. Though they each kept one eye trained on Evelyn, they resumed their attacks on the enemy. All except for Cassandra. The Seeker stood unmoving and apparently unmoved. Her jaw was set and her eyes were cold as they bored directly into Evelyn's.

_This censure is nothing compared to what Cullen will do._

Before tears threatened to form, she hardened herself against the errant and untimely thought. She had betrayed them all. She deserved whatever fate came to her. But not right now. Right now they had people to save, demons to smite and enemies to vanquish.

She put as much steel in her voice as she could and called out to Cassandra. "You can put me in chains again later, Seeker. After we see these people, _and the Commander's family_, safe."

At the mention of Cullen and their task at hand, Cassandra forced Evelyn's betrayal to the back of her mind and put aside the fact that they'd unknowingly elected an apostate to the position of Inquisitor.

_You knew this would happen_, Evelyn told herself as Cassandra turned away from her to face one of the pride demons. She and Ser Barris managed to bring the thing down with Sera and Blackwall's assistance, but one of the beasts still remained and, before anyone had a chance to wipe the blood from their blades, another rift opened.

With Cassandra still silent and seething, Ser Barris issued orders to withdraw. They quickly organized an escape formation and started down the road to the old Ferelden army outpost, gathering what villagers remained and picking up stragglers as they went. The fort was situated a short distance from the village across open countryside that should have been easy to traverse if not for the constant expenditure of effort directed to defense as they ran.

The archers, Cullen's siblings included, provided cover fire and the mages, Evelyn included, shielded everyone with magic as best they could. Abominations of every species spilled from the rifts and hounded every one of their slow steps.

Sinister looking clouds rolled in fast above them, hanging low and heavy, crowding the light out of the sky and threatening a storm. The world grew darker moment by moment, though Evelyn could no longer tell if it was the whole world, or just hers.

When they finally arrived at their destination, a few Ferelden soldiers were herding people through the gates. Evelyn saw Cullen's brother, Branson, escort his wife and babe along with their younger sister Rosalie, into the fortification but then he turned back around to face the fighting again. Mia also wasn't giving way.

Evelyn heard Ser Barris arguing with the soldiers. There weren't enough men to push back their attackers and Barris couldn't assure them with any certainty exactly when Inquisition reinforcements would arrive. Their best hope was to barricade behind the imposing stone walls of the fort, wait and pray.

Evelyn knew down to her very soul that Cullen would be there soon. All she had to do was hold out until then, and keep everyone safe.

"All of you inside!" She shouted. "Cullen _will_ be here soon with reinforcements. Blackwall! Get the Commander's brother. Seeker! His sister. Inside! _Now_!"

Cullen's siblings were irate, weapons at the ready, unwilling to back down. Blackwall looked Evelyn in the eyes. "As you say, Inquisitor." He replied, nodding his head to her once, an unspoken gesture of acceptance and support, before he rushed at Cullen's brother and swept the large man up over his shoulder to physically carry him inside.

Still staring at Evelyn, Cassandra did the same to Mia who shouted her protests while she was man-handled into the fort. Even if none of them followed her after this, at least her companions saw the necessity and wisdom of her orders.

"Ser Barris, go and take command in there. I'm staying out here. Solas can heal the injured inside. The archers and the other mages can cover me from the ramparts. The demons are drawn to the mark and I can manipulate the rifts. I can distract them, maybe lead them away and buy time until the Commander comes."

The Templar hesitated. "But...you can't..._alone_?" was his fractured disbelieving question.

Evelyn responded darkly, lifting her knight-enchanter's blade and conjuring fire into her other hand. "I won't be so easy to kill."

"_We_ won't be so easy to kill, my darling little Evelyn." Ripples of Dorian's deadly magic rose up around him in a deep purple haze. Evelyn could feel the fear and horror of his power bite at the edges of her senses. "Let the mundanes hide behind their walls. A Tevinter mage does _not_ retreat."

"And you think a southern mage does?" Enchanter Vivienne lifted her chin and her staff, her own spirit blade luminescent at her side. "Please do as you've been asked, Ser Barris. _We_ will stay with the Herald and hold back the enemy until the Commander arrives. And if the Inquisition loses _three_ mages today, I'm sure no one will mourn for very long."

Through silent tears of gratitude, Evelyn watched the reluctant Ser Barris and the rest of their group disappear inside the fort. The mages barely had time to turn from the shut gates before their foes caught up to them. As requested, arrows flew down from the fort's battlements felling targets left and right. It allowed Dorian, Vivienne and Evelyn time to focus their attacks on the remaining pride demon.

It was a fight waged with dizzying speed. Vivienne's ice was relentless, chilling the air to freezing around her. When rain started pouring down from the overcast sky, around Vivienne, it turned to snow.

As the Iron Lady sucked the heat from the atmosphere, Dorian seemed to be sucking all the life from it. Evelyn had to concentrate hard not to be drawn into his concocted nightmare. She focused on her own attacks and brandished Cullen's magic-corrupted Templar sword. She reveled in the slick sharpness of the dichotomous weapon as it ravaged through enemy flesh.

When the Pride demon fell, Evelyn quickly closed the rift nearby. Respite, however, was not so easily granted by a capricious Maker. She felt them before she actually laid her eyes on them. From the direction of the village, a group of Red Templars bore down onto the field, the brutal silence of their magical suppression preceding them.

When the initial attack hit from a distance, Dorian was staggered back a step and Vivienne winced. Evelyn was unperturbed. She felt the subtle drain in her mana but she wasn't physically affected by it, so she launched forward and engaged the first red Templar to draw his weapon. Evelyn tried to ignite her mage flame, but rain poured down in torrents, subverting her attempts. She reached down with her magic and tried to control the rocks in the ground beneath her, as Solas often did, but they were buried under heavy puddles and ankle deep mud.

Dorian and Vivienne were discharging any spells they could pull to their fingertips towards the wall of Red Templars pushing forward. The mages' barriers were rapidly disintegrating under the onslaught of the magic cleansing attacks they were being made to suffer.

When Evelyn was able to spare a glance, she saw that Dorian was doubled over in pain and Vivienne was panting, unable to find an unlabored breath. Bitterly, she realized she had her family to thank for her ability to withstand the smite of a Templar. Until the events of the Conclave, she'd spent most of her life being forcibly silenced, even if she hadn't always been aware of it. Unlike a pampered Altus from Tevinter, or a loyal circle enchanter, she and her magic knew first-hand what power lay in a Templar's lyrium coated fist and she was neither frightened of it nor fazed by it. Let them take her magic. She could endure without it as she always had.

Evelyn pushed back against the Red Templars, undaunted. Her force magic was muted, but she flung it out from her hand with all the power she could muster. It was enough to throw one of the disfigured knights back into his brothers knocking two more down. She spun, and her blade cut clean through the crystallized limb of another. The jagged and red glowing edges of it fell into the mud.

It felt as though she'd been fighting for days but she knew it was only moments. The strength of her will alone would not carry her much further in this battle. She shouted over and over again for Dorian and Vivienne to retreat into the fort before their barriers failed entirely but they didn't listen. Though she was physically less affected than them, her mana was nearly gone. She didn't know how they were still standing. She started shouting again, but her pleas were drowned out by a rolling thunder in the distance. She looked to the sky, but it wasn't the storm. When the ground started trembling under her feet she knew.

_Cullen._

Evelyn held her breath and waited for it. The sight of her immediate salvation and her eventual damnation came into full view. An Inquisition banner, a battalion of mounted soldiers and one enraged and determined ex-Templar.

Cullen abandoned his horse and began cleaving through the rear of the red Templar line, his men quickly following suit. Through sprays of blood and rain he saw her, his gold eyes seeking her out. She couldn't bear to return his gaze.

Dorian and Vivienne were both on their knees now, unable to continue protecting themselves, let alone fight back. Evelyn had just enough for one more attack. She would make it count and she would finally show Cullen the truth of her.

She stomped down deep into the pool of muddy water at her feet. She extinguished her blade and slipped the hilt through her belt. She collected what remained of her mana into her hands. Tiny blue sparks crackled between her fingertips. Only a fool would conjure lighting in a storm. Evelyn was nothing if not a spectacular fool.

When she extended her hands, electricity shot out in all directions. It took every bit of focus she had left to direct it. The lightning jumped from her fingers to all the red Templars she could reach. She pulled back into herself any energy that couldn't find a target so as not to harm any of her people with friendly fire. The feeling of her magic coursing back through her own body was both blissful and painful. She heard screaming, but she couldn't tell if it came from her or from the Red Templars caught in her strike.

Every nerve in her body was on fire. When she thought she couldn't bear the agony of it any longer, finally, _thankfully_, her magic ran dry. Her limbs went numb and her grip on consciousness slackened. She let her eyes, at last, meet Cullen's before she was blinded by one more flash of lightning and then she saw no more.

xxxx

_You knew. You always knew._

Cullen jumped from his horse and charged the line of Red Templars on foot. He wanted to _feel_ the bodies of his fallen enemies beneath his boots after he struck them down. And strike them down he did. He was indiscriminate. Unyielding. Unforgiving.

_That's what you are, isn't it? Unyielding? Unforgiving?_

South Reach was a smoking ruin when he and his men rode through it. They followed the trail of carnage to a Fereldan army fort where they came upon the poisoned Templars engaging three lone mages.

There was shouting but he didn't hear it. There were sounds of dying but they fell on deaf ears. He heard neither the rain, nor the clash of swords, nor his own heartbeat. All those things were silent and instead he strained his senses towards the _music_. He heard the macabre notes of Dorian's magic and felt the unsettling darkness of his necromancy. He heard Vivienne's cold and terrifying melody.

He heard Evelyn. He heard her song, _her magic_, unique and indescribable, familiar, so familiar and yet brand new. Clear now. Right. True. He'd been unsettled by it, questioned it, welcomed it, accepted it and now he _knew it. _He knew. He'd been willful and proud, seeing only what he wanted to see, hearing only the faintest echo of who she was. He'd been a fool.

When she lit the dark sky with her magic, it was _magnificent_ in its beauty and in its sadness. If he was a fool who saw only innocence and kindness, she was a fool who saw only sacrifice and self-hatred. She was the kind of fool who conjured lightning in a rainstorm.

Her electric onslaught brought down half a dozen red Templar abominations before it brought her down as well. She collapsed into the puddle at her feet, her body still sparking with energy.

Cullen didn't know how many men he killed to get to her, but when he finally reached where she lay twitching in the mud, the battlefield was motionless and quiet. The enemy threat that had seemed so large and foreboding when he couldn't stab his sword into it, was now quelled and forgotten in the face of the revelation that was Evelyn and her magic.

He was three steps away from her when a beaten and battered Dorian, stumbling, practically crawling, extended his weakened magic out. The Tevinter was unable to support her life, but he was determined to stave off her death with his influence over it.

Cullen was two steps away when he saw the gates of the fort creak open, allowing Solas to come running out from them. The elf's healing magic rolled in broad waves all around.

The Commander, _the ex-Templar_, was one step away from the woman, _the mage_, he loved when Vivienne Fade-stepped and appeared between them, bloodied and bruised and pointing her spirit blade at him.

The Iron Lady stared him down and spoke slowly, each word deliberate. "What are you going to do, Commander?"

It was a challenge as much as it was a question. What was he going to do? What did they think he was going to do?

_What must they think of you? Unyielding? Unforgiving?_

"I…" His voice cracked. He wasn't sure he could be heard over the driving rain. He was both reluctant to meet the Enchanter's scrutiny and unwilling to pull his eyes away from Evelyn's prone form.

"We won't let you or anyone else harm her, Commander." Vivienne added, her threat obvious, a natural leader, protecting one of her own.

_They think you're capable of harming her._

He might have been capable of harming her, once, in the past. In fact, he was sure of it, but no longer. He was changed by her. He'd been changing little by little since they'd met, finally and truly changing and he finally and truly felt that he was who he _wanted_ to be and not who he'd been forced to be. The woman he loved was a mage. _And he didn't give a damn._

He must make them see. He tried again.

"Vivienne…please... I..." He knew what he wanted to say but suddenly his mouth wouldn't form around the words, the words that he felt in every muscle, in his bones, his heart, his soul. Then he realized those words were not for others to know before he'd even had the chance to say them to Evelyn. Those words belonged to her, and only her, as he belonged to her.

If Vivienne hadn't been so weakened, he would have never succeeded with so little of his Templar power left to him, but she was so drained that when he silenced her, she dropped to her knees, impotent. He stepped around her without an ounce of remorse and fell to his own knees beside Evelyn.

When he picked her up from the mud, the faint blue remnants of electricity crackling along her skin left her and traveled through his limbs. The sensation of it, her magic, settled his soul more than any prayer or any vial of lyrium ever had or ever could. With her, he was safe from his nightmares, safe from his past.

He held her tighter, as he swore to himself that she would, also, always be safe in his arms. Whatever her past, whatever shaped her and led her to this, he would protect her from it and he would help her to become who she wanted to be and not who she was forced to be.

Cullen felt eyes on them from all directions as he carried her inside. He focused forward and refused to acknowledge anyone but the woman in his arms. When she stirred, and groaned in pain, he shushed her.

"It's alright." He whispered softly. "I've got you."

He didn't look down at her, but he heard the tears in her voice when she spoke. "Cullen...I…"

"You're a mage, Evelyn." He was sure that wasn't what she wanted to say, but it was what _he_ wanted to say. He needed to say it and know that she heard it from his lips. "You're a mage and you love a Templar. And he loves you."


	25. Song and Slumber

**_Chapter 25: Song and Slumber_**

Cullen stood in a hallway, staring at a closed door. After surrendering Evelyn to a cot and Solas' healing magic, he found he couldn't bring himself to step away. She lost consciousness again before he carried her through the fort's gates. Marching past everyone with his head high and his face stoic was more difficult than anticipated, especially when he caught sight of his family, alive and well, thanks to Evelyn's sacrifice.

Though she was alive too, her actions were most certainly a sacrifice. She went her entire life keeping this secret, and yet for him she sacrificed the whole world she'd built, without even knowing how he would react. It would have been easy for her to think he might reject her. He had a history, a persona, despite his trying to change it. It should have been enough to condemn him.

Cullen wanted to hold her and hear her voice. He wanted to do everything he could to reassure her that no matter who he'd been, what he'd done, no matter what she thought, or what anyone else thought, he loved her.

_He loved her._

The words repeated themselves over and over in his head. Like a spark to dry tinder, the very concept of loving her spread inside him. The reality of the emotion set him aflame. He _loved_ her. He _needed_ her and she needed him too but, staring at a closed door was not the best way for him to be helping. They were still at war and he was still her general. His men needed their orders and he had to assure the Inquisition secured the area properly. He would see his family safeguarded even if he'd yet to greet them.

After several failed attempts to move his feet from the floor and pull his eyes from where he knew Evelyn to be sleeping, he heard someone approach. Blackwall came up beside him.

"I'll watch over her Commander, so you can attend to your duties."

Cullen considered the Warden and his words. It appeared this was the first test of their companions' allegiance to Evelyn herself and not the Inquisition.

"You're still with her then?" It was difficult not to make the question sound like a threat. There were bound to be repercussions Cullen couldn't entirely shield her from.

"I'm still with her." It was a simple reply, sincere and loyal.

Cullen nodded. He would have to relinquish his sentry duty at some point. "Fine then. I'll return as soon as I'm able." As he was walking away, Blackwall made another simple statement.

"For what it's worth, Commander. We all have secrets. Some people keep them to protect themselves. I think she kept hers to protect others."

He could only hope their other friends and associates felt the same way. "It's worth a lot, Blackwall, and it's appreciated."

Cullen made his rounds and gave orders to his men with smooth efficiency. The Inquisition secure the area secured and steps were taken to aid the displaced villagers. He noticed as he worked that his soldiers avoided meeting his eyes. He let it pass, but he would need to actively address their issues before doubt and dissent spread through the ranks. Evelyn would need to be the one to guide the narrative about her status, but nevertheless, he and the rest of the Inquisition leadership needed to provide a united front.

As soon as he finished with the immediate duties of command, he went in search of his family. Despite everything the day had brought, it was only in that moment his heartbeat quickened with insecurity and his mind buzzed with fears and suppositions about their reunion. So many years lay stretched out between the boy they knew and the man he was now. Returning to them under these circumstances from his self-imposed exile was not what he would have wished for. The fact that he would have been too late if Evelyn hadn't done what she did made his racing heart pound harder.

He wandered through the fort, looking for his siblings, his steps getting more agitated and hurried the farther he went. Each corner he turned, he rehearsed another greeting, another apology, another excuse. Sweat started collecting at the back of his neck and he rubbed it away with trembling hands. He had to clench them into fists to stop the shaking.

When he decided to climb up to the battlements, he could hardly pretend it was to find his family. He just needed to stand in the cold wind to clear his head. These were the times he often sought out Evelyn...

_Maker_, he'd been so selfish. He'd done nothing but take from her what he needed, her time, her soothing presence, her touch, her lips. She silently bore the weight of her own burdens while he used her to alleviate his own. He grunted in frustration. Unable to see past all of the egocentric actions replaying in his head, he failed to see Sera blocking his path. He nearly ran into her.

The small elf wore a mean frown. Her hands were on her hips and she made no move to let him pass her. They stared at each other for a moment before the accusation came out.

"She's a _mage_." Sera's emphasis on the last word was clearly derogatory and Cullen suddenly worried how his support of Evelyn would affect his friendship with Sera.

"Yes. And?" He was deliberately terse.

Sera's frown deepened. "You alright with that?"

"I am." He said firmly, then added, "Are we alright?"

Sera paused. "We are. But little miss magey gets an arrow in the face, yeah, if she breaks your widdle Templar heart." She stepped out of his way, reached up to pat him once on the shoulder and then left.

Cullen continued to walk the battlements. He still felt nervous and unsettled, but his interactions with Blackwall and Sera were reassuring. It was good to have friends. The men and women he bonded with in the Order were his brothers and sisters. The relationships he was building within the Inquisition all had a much different dynamic.

Closing his eyes against a chilly breeze he thanked the Maker for all of the opportunities he'd been given. He had a command, friends, love and family. At least, he _would_ have family again if he ever gathered enough courage to go back down and find them. He felt stable, grounded in a way he didn't think he'd experienced since before the Blight. More than anyone, Evelyn helped him get to where he was and he swore he would be her rock now as she faced what was to come.

When he opened his eyes he caught sight of another person stalking the ramparts ahead of him. It was Cassandra. He'd been hoping to put off this conversation. Whatever the Seeker's new opinion of Evelyn was, Cullen was certain it would be well-considered and sensible, which terrified him. There was a reason Cullen asked Cassandra to be the one to monitor his fitness for duty. If truly called upon to judge him, he trusted her to act in the best interests of their cause and not his own best interests. She would never cloud her decision with their friendship. He knew very well that his emotions were clouding his judgement regarding Evelyn's deception. What would he do if Cassandra rejected the real Evelyn?

The Seeker stopped, leaned against the outer wall and looked down onto the rain soaked field below. "I do not understand how she was able to hide her nature from me."

Cullen didn't know if she was speaking to him, herself or the Maker. He went to stand next to her. "You yourself said the magic of the Breach and the mark affected what you were able to sense. She was surrounded by Templars. No one suspected. But if anyone is to blame it should be me. I spent the most time with her. In the beginning I felt there was something odd about her, but I passed it off as the mark and then after we became close, I admit my feelings for her caused me to overlook what I might have otherwise questioned. In retrospect, there are many things that make sense now."

Cassandra snorted in derision. "Such as?"

Cullen knew Cassandra held none of the misgivings regarding mages he once had, so her displeasure was mostly aimed at herself for putting the Inquisition in this position. Evelyn's lies were now not only hers, but all of theirs. To answer her question, he searched his head for every stray puzzle piece he'd been unable to fit into the image of Evelyn as a simple nobleman's daughter committed to the Chantry.

"Do you recall when you first told me about how effective she was at fighting Templars? And that she was often overly deferential to them? It makes sense if her brother trained her specifically to combat one should she ever be discovered. After the avalanche at Haven, before you found us, she proved she'd also been trained in survival skills, the same skills taught to Templar hunters, so it's obvious he also showed her how to live on the run if it came to that."

Cullen started seething inside with anger as the next pieces of the Evelyn Trevelyan puzzle fell into place. "And she knew about my lyrium withdrawal. It's possible it was used to punish her brother for looking after her, or perhaps to coerce him into controlling her magic for her."

Bann Trevelyan had obvious influence over the Chantry, and thus the Order, if he could conceal the truth of his own child's magic. Unlike some parents, however, it was clear he hadn't done it to save her from life in a Circle. When he came to them in Haven it must have been to try and force Evelyn back into sequestration, lest her lie, and his, be discovered. Cullen didn't care to spare the effort of imagining what his motivations were for driving Evelyn into secret apostasy.

Like a landslide starting with a few loose pebbles, the reality of the life Evelyn had led crashed down on Cullen all at once. Every day for her was lived entirely on guard, every moment feeling the push of demon whispers. Wearing self imposed shackles, her actions regulated more strictly than any Circle mage, he doubted she ever thought she could have a life of her own. She was isolated even as she stood in plain sight. To never once falter, never slip, never stumble, to have locked down her magic so absolutely showed more discipline than Cullen had ever seen from any mage. Then, after her brother died and her father abandoned her, to have done it alone? It was incomprehensible.

Also incomprehensible was the realization that she must have been deliberately silenced to keep her from detection. She hadn't always had a glowing focus of magic in her hand to distract those astute enough to sense her powers even as they lay dormant. Cullen knew what it was to silence a mage and strip them of their essence. It was no kindness. She was certain to have suffered the sting of a Templar's touch more often than he cared to think about, and still she'd let _him_ touch her.

The spiral of his thoughts kept descending. She'd been abused, her whole life, by the Chantry in the guise of her father and by Templars despite how her brother had tried to help her.

How could she love him, a Templar, who not so long ago wished her same fate on all mages? How could she love him so much as to give up her hiding and step willingly into a role she'd been taught was horrible enough to warrant her repeated mistreatment? He felt sick for her, for what she'd lived through and he felt unworthy.

He spoke with urgent anger now and righteous indignation. "She deserves our support, Cassandra. She could have left with her father back in Haven and the Breach would still be open. Instead she gave all of herself over to the Inquisition. I understand this complicates our politics but we still need her."

_I still need her. We need each other. _

Cassandra looked at him, into him, past his weak attempt at professional detachment. "Cullen," she said slowly, hesitating, "among the many things that worry me about this, I admit that I was most concerned about how you would react."

The Seeker tried several times to say more, but she stopped herself each time. He couldn't tell if her silence meant that she was trying to spare his feelings or if she truly wasn't sure of her own. Cassandra had always been forthright in expressing the respect she had for Evelyn and he hoped she still believed, as he did, that Andraste had a hand in sending the Herald to them no matter who or what she was or what her past transgressions were.

Cassandra finally settled on a statement of practicality. "What Lady Trevelyan's fate within the Inquisition will be is not my decision alone. I've already sent word to Leliana and Josephine detailing what has occurred and that they should expect us back at Skyhold to discuss the matter. We should leave as soon as everyone is recovered enough to travel."

She started walking away, fidgeting with her hands, then turned back to him and added, "Please tell her I'll speak with her after I've had a chance to consider things further."

"I will, Seeker. And thank you." His gratitude was sincere. He could ask for nothing more than Cassandra's promise to think on things carefully.

He was left alone on the battlements to watch the sun set. When the reds and oranges in the sky changed to greys and purples, he knew it was far past time to face his family.

He should have known Mia would find him first.

"We were waiting for you in the mess hall but I heard you were wandering around grumbling to yourself. Since that might have gone on all day, and clearly it has, I decided to come to you." A familiar voice, with a maturity that was lacking in Cullen's memory of it, scolded him from behind.

Before he could turn around or say her name, his sister surrounded him with a hug and squeezed so hard his armor creaked. All the air left his lungs and with it any lingering feelings of doubt.

"Welcome back to us, Brother." She breathed out the words and they were thick with relief. When she released him, she smiled, then she hit him on the side of his head with her open hand. "You're a stubborn arse."

Cullen couldn't help but grin back at her. "And you're a bully."

"Yes, well some things never change. I've spoken with your friend Sera. I like her. For a tiny elf she's got bigger bollocks than most of the men I've dated."

Cullen held his tongue and held in a laugh. Mia kept talking.

"She brought Bran and I up to speed about who attacked us and then she gave us the story behind you swooping in like a proper knight and saving that Inquisitor of yours. There were several references to swords and peaches that I'd rather not think on, but she got the point across."

Mia hooked their arms together and led them down from the battlements. Cullen was content to let her have control of the conversation. All he was able to focus on before she found him were the years that spanned between them, but with seemingly no effort at all she was able to bring him back to a time before that, when things were easier, and he was grateful.

"There's more we could talk about, but we'll have time, so we've no need to get it all in at once." His sister squeezed his arm reassuringly.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll be leaving as soon as our injured are ready to travel." He regretted the situation, but at least he'd been given the chance to see his family, however briefly.

Mia dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand. "Yes, I know. We'll be leaving with you. Bran and I have been loaning our bows to King Alistair's forces, but circumstances being what they are, we discussed it and we thought it best to join the Inquisition. I'm sure you can find something for us to do and after being run out of both Honnleath and South Reach, a giant fortress in the Frostbacks sounds like the safest place. To be honest, we never really considered this place home anyway." A faint melancholy laced Mia's words and Cullen wondered what stories _she_ had from the years they'd been apart.

He didn't really think on how she'd basically given herself a job under his command, or how he and his whole family would now be residents under Skyhold's roof, he only thought to thank the Maker yet again, for time and second chances.

He was welcomed with warm embraces from his brother and younger sister and was introduced to his sister-in-law and nephew. The moons were shining brightly when his family retired and he checked on his men one last time before heading back to Evelyn's side, where he intended to stay until she woke.

On the way, he was intercepted again by Vivienne. She looked at least mostly recovered from the battle. Cullen almost thought he should defend himself after his actions against her, but she must have notice his muscles tense because she held up her hand.

"There's no need to speak of what happened earlier, Commander. We both had our reasons and both were valid. I do, however, wish to tell you a story."

Cullen got the impression that her wishes were not to be dismissed even if he was in a hurry to return to Evelyn. Vivienne led him to an alcove where they sat and she started her tale.

"When I came into my magic, my family did not want to send me to the Circle. I was old enough to know it needed hidden and the consequences of getting caught. We moved from place to place and they tried to provide me with whatever resources they could to help me learn to control my abilities. I felt very loved and they did their best to protect me, but they were not mages."

Her eyes got far away. Cullen thought he saw a soft glow of warmth behind the Iron Lady's ice. He remained silent and let her continue.

"They could never know what it was like, the struggle, day after day, night after night. Even as a Templar, you can have no idea the strain it causes for a mage to suppress their magic. It's like denying yourself breath. The more you reject who you are, the more you bury it down, the greater the temptation becomes and the demons get louder."

Cullen had already presumed all of this but to hear the truth of it spoken aloud, by one who knew, was agonizing. He ached to erase Evelyn's past suffering, even more than he wanted to erase his own.

Vivienne paused and took several even breaths. Whatever tender emotion slipped through her defenses was quickly gathered back and her mask was firmly in place again.

"I woke up one night and left my home. I surrendered myself to the first Templar I saw and I never looked back, not that I would have been able to. It was the best decision I ever made. It was the only one I could have made and _I am no weakling_, Commander."

The words were spoken with an edge that made Cullen shiver and he almost thought he felt the temperature around them drop.

"My point is that while some may think less of her for what she's done, I can assure you the Inquisitor has accomplished what no other mage I've known could ever do, including myself. Normal apostates simply practice their magic when and where they won't be caught but to abstain entirely? Well, if I did not believe in Andraste before this, I would absolutely now believe that Andraste has had a hand in Lady Trevelyan's past, present and future."

Vivienne rose but before she left, she made her intentions clear. "The Inquisitor doesn't need our protection, Commander, but she's earned it. I will continue to follow her and I will assure the rest of the mages do as well. I have faith you will convince the Templars to do the same."

Cullen thought that sounded less like a vote of confidence in him than it did an outright order. It would be an order he would try his best to follow.

After he and Vivienne parted, he finally made his way to where Blackwall still stood guard outside Evelyn's door.

The Warden nodded at him. "Solas is in there now checking on her, but she hasn't woken up yet." Cullen thanked Blackwall as he left and a few minutes later, Solas emerged from the room.

"Ah, Commander. Lady Trevelyan is still asleep, but she is recovering well. The mark is stable and her magic seems not to have affected it adversely."

There was something about the way Solas looked in that moment, or something about his remark or the way he sounded because Cullen, strangely, recalled a conversation he'd had with Cassandra. She mentioned that Solas counseled Evelyn regarding her dreams after Redcliffe. The unexpected conclusion that Cullen suddenly drew was indirect at best, but he felt absolutely sure of it.

_"You knew." _He hissed.

"I did." Solas didn't even blink and his expression didn't change. "Someone had to show her how to use your sword."

It took all of Cullen's substantial and formidable discipline _not_ to punch the damn smug elf in the face. As he silently fought his desire to respond violently, Solas took the opportunity to keep talking.

"You should know that the spirit blade she forms around your sword hilt is the only part of her magic she's completely comfortable with. In training her to use her abilities, I had to battle a great number of her self-imposed restrictions so, I should thank you for giving me something to work with. I wasn't entirely sure it would be possible with the enchantments on it but she was very motivated."

Cullen managed a few strained and dangerously quiet words. "You trained her to use her magic?"

"One of many questions you should be asking her. Speak with Lady Trevelyan when she awakens, Commander. I'm sure the two of you will have much to say to one another." Before Cullen could speak again, Solas took his smirk and his smugness and he left.

Cullen considered dragging him back to question him further, but he decided it was better to leave it as it was until Evelyn woke. To Cullen, Evelyn's lies about her magic did not mean she was fundamentally untrustworthy. The fact that Solas had kept this from them, however, made Cullen forge a deep feeling of mistrust for the elf. He was too detached from the real word. He dissociated himself from every faction whose interests should align with his own. Cullen had long believed that men with no allegiances were only allied with themselves, which meant everyone else was disposable. It was troubling that Evelyn felt she could only turn to Solas. He found it difficult to believe the aloof 'apostate' had Evelyn's best interest in mind and he was certain the interests of the Inquisition were not what motivated Solas. The elf's involvement in her life was one of many things he would ask Evelyn about when she was recovered.

As he quietly opened the door to her room, he started itemizing in his head the things he would need to discuss with Cassandra including Vivienne's opinions and Solas' questionable actions. The light of a single candle in one corner cast shadows about the bed. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he was able to focus on Evelyn's sleeping form, all of his duties, his responsibilities, his lists and his intentions dissolved away and he was left with an ache in his chest. It was a beautiful terrible longing, a need to silence everything in the world outside the sphere of their bodies. He wanted to hold her, protect her,_ love her_.

He moved to a chair at the bedside and sat watching the rise and fall of her chest. She'd been helped out of her armor and was covered only by a thin blanket and the many bandages and dressings that spoke to her earlier tenacity in battle. Her marked hand lay at her side and he reached for it, holding it tightly in his own. Closing his eyes and quieting his thoughts, he focused on her. For the first time, using senses dulled by months without lyrium, he felt _her_. The magic inside her thrummed along with the pulse of her heartbeat. He welcomed the feeling of it into his hand, allowing it and coaxing it forward to travel through him. There was a soothing strength to her magic, like gently lapping waves atop the sea concealing powerful currents beneath.

He let himself be lulled and rocked by the motion of those currents. None of the old fear of magic existed for him as he learned Evelyn for what she was through simply holding her hand. He felt neither disquiet nor discomfort at her touch. He felt free. Alive.

Both contentment and excitement started to bloom inside of him and he wanted more, more of Evelyn and her magic and more of _this_. He swore on everything he held dear that when she woke he would be for her what she was to him, a Herald, calling her out from her long repose and into a new life. He clasped her hand in both of his now and whispered the Chant to her as she slept.

_"I have heard the sound. A song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber."_

* * *

_A/N: So, I'm not even going to pretend there isn't going to be sex next chapter. My patience with the slow burn has come to an end, as has Cullen's. So Cully Wully gets sex for the Holidays. Thanks so much for reading, it makes me so happy to know people enjoy the story! More to...*ahem*...come..._


	26. Joy and Joining

**_Chapter 26: Joy and Joining_**

Evelyn woke to the feeling of Cullen's warm hand atop hers and the sound of his soft baritone murmuring a prayer. She held her breath and tried to lay as still as possible, lest her movement disturb his chant. Eyes closed, every muscle motionless, she wanted nothing more than to bask in the comfort of his voice and his touch.

She had thought that perhaps when the time came to look Cullen in the eye and be who she really was, she would regret the truth emerging and wish for things to be as they had been. It came as a shock to realize that the only thing she wanted to do was tell him everything. She should have done it long ago. Now she wished she could re-live their every moment together as her true self with no walls between them.

In her own words, she wanted, _needed_, to explain to him why she lied, share with him her struggles, and the fact that she might have gone on living as someone she wasn't if not for him. She destroyed a lifelong secret with a few seconds of magefire and a streak of lightning and she had no regrets. His presence gave her purpose, his affections gave her life and if she could only earn his love she knew that in it she could find freedom. Perhaps they could both find freedom.

Though he never said anything explicit when they spoke, she knew his life had been tainted by magic also, differently perhaps but no less than hers had. He was certain to have suffered the sting of a mage's touch at some point in his past, yet still he was here, holding her hand. She hoped he would share his own struggles with her and that they could begin to heal the scars they had both kept hidden from one another.

She felt so different now. She was changed. There were places inside her where doubt and hatred once lived, bitter silence and hopeless longing, festering, bleeding. After the events at South Reach, a dull numbness was all that remained and she felt empty. The hollow husk of her being ached to be filled. Stripped of its pretense, her soul was plaintively crying out its desire to _feel_ again and feel something other than despondency. She needed Cullen to know that the only thing left of her old self that she wanted to keep, that she wanted to build on and move forward with, was her love for him.

_But he already knows. He said it. You love a Templar and he loves you. Or did you imagine it? Was it another demon whisper? Another false temptation?_

Her breathing that she'd been trying to keep quiet hitched. Fear crept into the void inside her. If she was alone in this, her truth, did she have it in her to cope? Could she move forward? She was so tired. Had she done nothing but exchange one lonely battle for a new one?

As if snapping to attention for the sole purpose of banishing the apprehension from her head, Cullen stopped chanting, squeezed her hand and spoke. It was a tender whisper, a hopeful one. She felt as if her heart stopped before his words carried through the air from his lips to her ears.

"Evelyn. Are you awake, love?"

_Love. _

She couldn't be awake. She couldn't possibly be awake and have this be real, have him here with her. _With her. Knowing her. Loving her. _This was every impossible dream of her youth that was beaten down and crushed beneath the weight of her old reality. The reality where she didn't deserve him, didn't deserve anyone, didn't deserve anything but silence and servitude to the Maker who'd cursed her. Evelyn closed her eyes tight. She wanted to open them and see his face, but she was terrified to do so.

Another moment passed with her heart paused in her chest, until she felt his other hand at her cheek. Eyes still closed, she instinctively turned her head to soak up more of his warmth where it contacted her skin.

"Maker be praised." Cullen sighed out in one long exhale. "It's been hours, please, open your eyes, how do feel?"

_Happy._

She found her voice but it was tremulous, scared to rejoin the world outside of Cullen. "I'm...well. Uninjured. My wounds were healed." Those on the surface at least. She finally opened her eyes. "Are you alright? Your family…"

"Fine, everyone is fine. They have you to thank. _I_ have you to thank." Cullen leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. "Evelyn, I need you to know...I...I've never felt anything like this before."

He seemed as if he wanted to continue, but then he groaned and sat back in his chair. "I've been thinking about how to say this all day." He sounded tired and conflicted.

Evelyn pushed herself up on her elbows. She wanted to erase the worried furrow on his brow and the lines of exhaustion on his handsome face. "Cullen you don't have to…"

He stopped her with a kiss. It was a bare brush of lips, as if opening a door but not walking through it. She walked through. She pressed her lips to his even as tears fell from her eyes wetting both their faces. Her action was so swift, so eager, so without hesitation as to shock them both, but not enough to pull away. Instead they exhaled into each other, hot breath, relief, bewilderment, uncertainty all evident in their cautious, timid touches, learning each other again after the dramatic exposure of her magic to the world.

Cullen lifted his hands to cup her cheeks and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, but then she caught sight of the green glow on her bare hand flaring with her heated emotion. It was then that she jerked back abruptly, pulling away from him.

The effort of concealing her abilities had gone slack while she slept. It was difficult bringing herself back into focus after her exertions on the battlefield. The taste of freedom she'd had wielding her power was proving hard to reign back into silence. The song inside her seemed to have a mind of its own and letting it be heard out loud for even such a short time only served to weaken her dominance over it that she'd crafted over a lifetime. She didn't want to impose its cacophony upon him, not in these first few tentative steps. Not when she wanted him to see _her_ and not her magic.

_You are your magic. Are you not yet done denying it?_

She pushed aside the errant thought and pushed down her magic. "I'm sorry, Cullen."

Evelyn covered her face with her hands and shook her head. So many opposing instincts each trying to come to the forefront, were difficult to interpret and impossible to rationalize.

_Love isn't rational._

Had Dorian told her that? She believed it now, in all its terrifying truth. "I'm sorry for _everything_, Cullen. I'm so sorry…"

But he stopped her again. "Please?" He asked, holding out his hand and reaching for hers. She tentatively placed her marked palm on top of his. Letting him pull her closer, she watched him close his eyes, as if concentrating. He lowered his head and squeezed her hand. They were both quiet. The only sounds in the room were a drafty whistle at the windowpane and their soft breathing, hers quicker, anxious, and his deep, steady.

After several minutes, Evelyn finally relaxed back onto the bed. The thin sheet covering her didn't provide much warmth against the chill of a Fereldan night, but sitting so close to Cullen was like cozying up to a fire. His body radiated physical heat but even without that, simply being near him, touching him, made her own blood run hot with hungers she had tried so hard to keep in check, never letting herself fully succumb to them when she was still struggling beneath her lies.

_It's different now. Enjoy this. Enjoy it while it lasts…_

So she did. Her attention turned to their joined hands. His fingers and palm were rough against hers, his grip firm. Searching past the simple tactile sensation, she felt the solidity of his aura. He had a Templar's defenses, built with years of dedication, a backbone of faith against the profane, and the faintest echo of the lyrium song that must have once roared inside him. She could lose herself in his strength, his calming foundation, well-constructed, well-forged, well-formed and unbroken by the storm of living.

Lulled and nestled inside his quietly imposing presence, she failed to notice him looking down at her. The honey gold in his eyes had gone dark in the shadows of the room with only specks of brightness flickering along with the candlelight in the corner. She stared back up at him, sure that she could look into those eyes forever and be content but unsure of what to say and how to say it. She opened her mouth, but he spoke instead.

"You healed me, didn't you?"

xxxx

Cullen's shaky whisper came with a visible puff of frosty breath. The room was getting colder as the night descended. He didn't need her to answer his question. He knew. Touching her now, feeling her magic, he knew. He would never have survived the avalanche at Haven if not for her.

Evelyn bit her lip, eyes still welled with tears. She nodded in confirmation. "I'm sorry. It was without your permission. I just couldn't let…"

_Again with the apologies, so many apologies. Had the girl only ever lived thinking she was to blame for everything? _

"Stop, Evelyn." He put his fingertips to her lips. "Stop apologizing. It's enough now. Never, _ever_, apologize for who you are. Not anymore, not to me."

Cullen let his hand fall back down on top of hers. He inhaled the chill air and it soothed him. He needed to say this. He needed to say it right.

"Evelyn, I'm grateful that you healed me. Once, in my past, I would not have been, but that day, I knew I wanted nothing more than to continue living so that I could be by your side. I won't lie to you though, not after what it cost you to be honest with me. Until recently, I…" He stopped himself and sighed. There was just so much to say.

_Say it. Say it all._

"Until recently, I would not have been able to accept _this_." He clutched her hand harder. "But you've given me perspective, distance from my old life, my old ways, old assumptions. You're so different from what I'd come to believe could exist and I..._I love you_…" He wanted to look away from her, to put his walls back up, to defend the last sliver of his heart that hadn't hardened that he was now giving to her. He forced himself to focus on her dark eyes. Reaching up to touch her face, he finished what he had to say.

"I don't give a damn _what_ you are_._ I _can_ love you. I _do_ love you."

If he said the words to convince himself, he found he didn't need to. The truth of how he felt resonated in him more than the call of lyrium ever had. There would always be chains tethering him to his past, to the Order. He would always be a Templar. He could accept it now though, when before, he kept trying to hack away at the chains, as she had all along as well, trying to deny her magic. There would always be chains, unbreakable, rusted into place too thick and stubborn to rot away, but from this point forward, they would help each other carry them.

If he said the words to convince her, then he hoped it worked.

xxxx

She wanted to kiss the words from his lips. So she did. He could love her, he did love her and she kissed him, tasting him, tasting the salt of her own tears and he held her close. The sheet that covered her slipped away but she didn't notice until her skin contacted the cold metal of his armor. When she gasped and withdrew, he picked the sheet back up and wrapped it around her.

But that wasn't what she wanted. She knew his lips, she knew his touch, the feel of his hands and mouth and arms. She knew him in corners and abandoned towers at Skyhold and she knew the feeling he stirred in her with his confidence, his _thirst_. Always in control of himself, but always seeming to fight his desires to take more. He stopped himself from pushing forward, from forging a deeper bond or creating a greater intimacy. She had obvious reasons to hesitate before, despite her certainty that she would love nothing more than to join with him. As to his hesitancy, she decided it was time she tested it.

This was not a night to leave things undone. She did not want either one of them to leave this room with reservations. She would have him know her, all of her, have her, hold her, she would lay herself bare before him as she had laid her magic bare before the world and she would move forward a new person. If not as a new person, she wasn't sure she could move forward at all.

A self-loathing apostate and an embittered ex-Templar were not the stuff of fantasy. Heroes and kings and childhood tales of true love was not this. A first time on a wedding night with the prettily perfect trappings of nobility all around was not what she would have. It was not what she was ever meant to have and it was not at all what she wanted.

She wanted this. Now. It had to happen now with an ache still in their hearts, a world still to be righted and tears still drying at the corners of her eyes. It had to happen now because once they were linked, once their bodies had meshed and their souls were bound together, there would be no separating them, she knew. She knew this for certain. They would face their trials, carry their chains, and move forward, stronger together than apart.

Evelyn sat up on her knees, tilting her shoulders so the sheet he had carefully placed back on her slid down to the bed. She took his hands in hers and guided them to the many bandages swathed around her. She helped him release her from her bindings, revealing healed skin unmarred but still tender from her injuries. She felt a heated flush rise to her cheeks when she was completely naked under his gaze and just before she lowered her eyes nervously she would swear she saw color rise into his as well.

She stared down at his hands. They were clenched into fists and if she would have worked up the nerve to look at his face again, she would have seen his jaw in a similar state of stress. He slowly relaxed one of his hands and brought his fingers forward to graze the top of her thigh. She held her breath as the calloused digits traveled upward, caressing her hip, and then turning so the backs of them brushed her abdomen and up further until his thumb traced lightly underneath the swell of her breast.

She'd been cold. It felt like she'd known nothing but cold since Redcliffe until this moment. She burned beneath his touch, feeling flames lick at her from their point of contact to every other corner of her being. Daring to lift her eyes to his was dangerous, but she did it anyway. Wide pupils looked back at her, the force of desire behind them overwhelming. He was holding himself in check as he always had when they were together, but this was different. She knew he felt the same as she did and that his restraint wouldn't last long.

_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity. _

They were ready and willing to dive into the abyss together.

When she arched her back to meet his exploring hand, his discipline faltered. His mouth found hers with a powerful determination. Her body melted against his and this time she didn't even notice the cold steel of his breastplate pressed into her chest.

His strong hands were on her back, in her hair, at her shoulders and she was dizzy with the feeling of being exposed so completely. When her magic sparked and rose up inside her she stiffened trying to battle it back down without pulling herself from the wicked delight of his touch. He sensed her tense under his hands and gently pulled away leaving one last chaste kiss on her lips before pushing back his chair and standing.

With the faintest of smiles on his face, he never broke eye contact with her as he slowly removed his armor and undressed, carefully placing each adornment on the floor beside the bed.

To see a Templar in his armor was a common thing. To see one remove it was mesmerizing. The practiced motions of his fingers at each of the ties and buckles, the flex of his muscles moving and shifting and lifting out of its protective encasement made her heartbeat quicken and her mouth run dry. Almost every inch of him was hard planes and scarred skin and it was _beautiful_.

Fascinated and entranced by his form, she reached out to touch him as he had touched her, but the sight of her hand again brought her magic back into her conscious awareness and again she tried to pull back. This time he didn't let her retreat. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. His unshaven stubble scratched at her, sending tickles of curiosity through her.

_What would that feel like grazing her stomach, her neck, her thighs? _

She wanted to know. She wanted to know every part of him, every hair on his head, every scar and muscle, including those scars she had found within him and tried to heal when he lay unconscious in her lap in the aftermath of the destruction of Haven.

But could she reciprocate? Could she really willfully expose him to her magic and allow him to know all of her? She wondered if she would even have a choice. They'd barely touched and yet each advancement brought with it a flare of mana fueled energy. What if she couldn't hold it back?

"Shhh." Though she'd not voiced her concerns, Cullen hushed her thoughts. He brought her hand to his chest, over his heartbeat. His skin was hot and her lips were jealous of where her fingers now lay wanting to taste the heat of his body. He stepped to the edge of the bed and climbed in to kneel beside her. The mattress dipped with his weight and she brought her other hand up to his chest to steady herself against him. They were so close now, her body sharing his warmth. He covered her hands with his where they rested on him.

"No hiding." He ordered. "I won't have you pull away from me." Then his voice softened. "You won't hurt me Evelyn, I promise. _Let it go. Show me_."

xxxx

He kissed her again, still pressing her hands to his chest.

_Maker_, she felt wonderful. She was cool softness and innocent indecision. It was impossible to stop himself from claiming her lips with a passion that only she could draw from him. He could _taste_ her magic on her tongue. Where the Chant of Light usually reigned, now he stole her voice, clear words turned to muffled moans and he swallowed them down as he kissed her.

He'd ordered her to show him her magic, to let go and let him in but he could tell she was still wary. He pushed past her reluctance, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close. Leaning forward, cradling her, he laid them down. She relaxed back and he settled in atop her. She parted her legs to accommodate him and he nearly shuddered at the slide of her thighs against his and heat of her core open to him, welcoming him. He shifted his pelvis determined to be patient but the response he got tested his every last ounce of control. She arched her back and tilted her hips up to him, spreading her legs further, releasing a long moan into his mouth. He saw her control was waning as well.

He moved his lips to her neck, inhaling the scent of her and then suckling at her pulse point along time with the beat of her heart. Her chin tilted up to expose more of her body to him and he chanced another shift of his pelvis, unable to hold back his own pained and needy groan at the feeling of her slickness.

He knew immediately when she surrendered. A long sigh that was almost a whine escaped her and she wrapped her arms around him. Her fingers grasped at his shoulder blades and her short nails dug into his back. The intensity of her grip, the sharp sweetness of how she embraced him was unimaginable in its intensity and in its desire, its lust, and its love. This was all new for her. She didn't have to tell him. Desire, lust and love. He'd known his share of all of them and was jaded by the lot until this very moment when her wonder and her willingness to experience all of this with him made everything new for him again as well.

That's when he felt it. The first soft notes of her song reaching out to him, the first tingle of her magic at the edges of his senses. He held her closer, tighter wanting her to know he felt it and that he _wanted_ it, encouraging her to open herself up more. He ran his nose through her hair and pressed kisses against the shell of her ear. He let his hands roam, caressing soft curves and kneading at tight knots of tense muscle. When he swiped the pad of his thumb against one pebbled nipple she cried out and he felt the light inside her shine. She shocked herself with it, but it was too late, waves of invisible energy crackled between them, sparking along her skin and trying to soak into his Templar flesh, hardened as it was against magic. He could take it all, he wanted it all, to feel her, to be buried inside her, to claim her and drive into her as she learned how to be herself through him.

Urged on by the waves of her magic and her legs that were now riding high and wanton on his hips he repositioned himself, pushing up on his elbows so he could look down at her face. He needed to see her, and she needed to see him. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of her, eyes heavy lidded with lust and lips swollen and parted for him, quivering with her softly panting breath. He leaned down and touched their foreheads, forcing his eyes to stay open as he slowly moved to slide into her. Taking himself in hand, he guided his throbbing tip to her center and ran it up and down the length of her. She shivered and tried to close her eyes and throw back her head, but he took his other hand and grasped at the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair.

"Don't look away." He begged. He didn't mean for it to sound that way, but a needy plea it was. He had to _see_ her. She opened her eyes and he found such longing there, such desperation that he couldn't bear to deny her any longer. He pushed through her, into her, slow, deliberate, watching her face the whole time. He saw shock, then fleeting pain pass behind the dark pools of her eyes before the craving settled back in. Her breathing quickened and she bit at her bottom lip, not even blinking.

_She felt amazing._ It was ecstasy, the feeling of her surrounding him, the tight wet slide of entering her with her legs tremulous and locked around his waist. He forced himself to be steady and slow, waiting for the swell of her magic at his intrusion to calm back down into flowing waves.

When it did, he started moving, again painfully slow. All he wanted to do was drive her into the bed, but he kept his pace languid and he kept his eyes on her. She exhaled and whimpered each time he seated himself deep inside her, grinding his pelvis into the spot that he knew would bring her the most pleasure.

Soon it was all he could do maintain his measured thrusts. He was sweating and the sight of her panting and writhing underneath him, spreading herself wide to take in more of him was rapture personified. When she started lifting herself to meet him on each stroke, he gave in. Smothering her in a kiss, he finally shut his eyes and started racing, hard and fast, pulling her towards her climax. He felt her magic go wild, crashing into him and he absorbed all of it lest she frighten herself with her loss of control.

He felt his own peak stir and build with each of her urgent cries for release. She cried out his name and the Maker's, and a beautiful litany of _pleases _and _yeses_ and other incoherent words of wanting. He growled into her shoulder when he felt himself harden even more, readying to come inside her. With sharp quick thrusts, not letting her recover or even breathe between them, he brought her over to the other side.

She stiffened then went limp, letting him carry her through the rush. She shouted his name again and again, chanted it in her bliss and it was a prayer he wanted to hear as often as he could until the end of his days. Her core clenched around him over and over as she rode out her peak and with the feeling of that alone, he was done. He buried himself to the hilt with one last thrust and spilled himself while surrounded by her touch, her scent and her magic.

They clung to each other, still quaking, vibrating, ears ringing in exhaustion. He grunted when he finally slipped himself from her and she exhaled deeply nuzzling her face into his chest. Without allowing any air to pass between their bodies, he held her close and rolled over so she could rest atop him.

Neither of them spoke. Cullen listed to the wind gusting outside, the in and out of her slowing breaths and her magic still humming all around them. Eventually, she slept, but he remained awake, reluctant to release her. Time passed and his eyes grew heavy. Sleep tugged at his thoughts. He didn't want to succumb to the Fade's pull but it was for a different reason than usual. He wanted to be awake, holding her and _knowing, _knowing that this was where he belonged, knowing that he had somewhere to belong and it was with her. Here or anywhere as long as he was with her, he belonged.

Outside there was doubt. Outside there was grief, a war and shadows at every turn. Inside there was clarity. Inside their pocket of love and magic set apart from the world, at least for the moment, there were dreams of the future, soothing comfort and light. Outside there was pain. Inside, with her, there was joy.

* * *

_A/N: As promised, Cullen got some lovin' for the holidays. I hope all of you enjoyed it as much as he did ;)_

_As always, thank you all from the bottom of my heart for reading. I hope to see you again soon because Cullen and Evelyn have a lot of shit to deal with when they get back to Skyhold. They'll probably need lots more sex to get them through all the stress :D Happy Holidays!_


	27. Silence and Flame

**_Chapter 27: Silence and Flame_**

A kiss that was too quick and words that were insufficient to describe the bond they'd made were all that Cullen was permitted to share with Evelyn the morning after he taught her to trust him with her body and her magic. They rose with the dawn together and before the sun was at its zenith, they were on their way back to Skyhold.

Cullen had planned on staying close to Evelyn as much as possible while they traveled. He did not expect anyone in the Inquisition to act against her because she was a mage, but the same could not be said for others they might encounter on the road. She hadn't been subtle about her show of magic. Word would spread and spread fast.

He also knew that she was more comfortable if he was near. Whether it was the remnants of Templar in him that soothed her magic or simply the fact that she knew he would be an unwavering ally, he didn't care why she wanted him near as long as she did.

He was not her only protector however. The Inquisitor had acquired a personal guard of sorts. When Cullen wasn't by her side he would find her with any one of a small number of cohorts. Dorian would ride next to her, drawing his horse close to hers and speak in low conspiratorial tones, often glancing in Cullen's direction with a knowing smirk. Blackwall would stand vigil at enough of a distance to go unnoticed but still within range should he be needed. Vivienne was vocal about her support as she stated she would be. Varric, though he often now found reason to scribble furiously in his notebooks while speaking with Evelyn, did not let any of the recent events show in his attitude towards her which was kind and companionable as always. Even Sera did her part, steering Evelyn away from parties who might offer criticism or steering those parties away from her. Cullen knew that the forthright elf was acting more out of loyalty to him than affection for Evelyn but that didn't make her actions any less appreciated.

Cullen's siblings as well had taken to Evelyn immediately. Branson seemed to revel in telling her stories about their childhood, typically embarrassing ones. Rosalie wanted to know everything about her, and Mia felt the need to constantly question Evelyn's choice in romantic partners, feeling the need to share every single one of Cullen's less than perfect attributes in painful detail on a daily basis.

Evelyn could have easily made the trip back to the Frostbacks as if nothing in her world had changed, surrounded by loyal friends, but taking the easy way out simply wasn't in her nature.

Starting with the first soldier she laid eyes on the morning after her exposure, she made a heartfelt and sincere speech of contrition to everyone who crossed her path. Those who thought to avoid her, she sought out. Those who rebuked her, she made repeated attempts to speak with. From the lowliest unranked foot soldier all the way to the Right Hand of the Divine, Evelyn apologized to them personally.

When she approached Cassandra, the Seeker listened, nodded, but offered no further opinion than what she discussed on the fort's battlements with Cullen. Evelyn was becoming increasingly worried at Cassandra's lack of response, angry or otherwise. When Cullen saw Evelyn trying to make a third attempt at engaging her, he intercepted.

"She'll come to you in her own time, love. I know you want resolution, but leave it be for now. And let me pretend you at least heard my plea that you stop apologizing for yourself."

Cullen pulled Evelyn behind a tall stack of supply crates away from prying eyes. Their party had stopped at an Inquisition outpost to rest the horses and find some rest themselves. They were making good time, but had been delayed twice already when they came upon a rift that Evelyn insisted on closing.

He took a moment to steal a kiss. It was already dark and they would soon be alone in their tent but he couldn't help himself. It was hardly a secret to anyone what they were to one another now. The first night they shared sleeping accommodations on the road she hesitated but good breeding and high-born propriety were afflictions Cullen did not suffer from. Her place was in his bed if she wanted to be there. The silent looks of challenge he gave anyone who thought to comment on the matter were enough of a deterrent that no one voiced any disapproval. Not that it would have mattered. He had grown past the rigidity of self-denial in the course of duty. He could serve and still be human.

The human in him stirred at the touch of her lips on his. They were sweet and cool and he had to stop himself before he was tempted to take things further.

_But just one more moment…_

"Hey, Curly. We need to talk."

Cullen's private little world inside Evelyn's kiss shattered when she startled at Varric's interruption and shied away from him.

"About _what_?" He growled as he rounded on the dwarf.

Evelyn gave him a scolding look hidden behind a smile. "Of course Varric, I'll excuse myself and let the two of you speak."

"No, no Kitten, by all means, this involves our fearless leader too. Let's just go somewhere not so out in the open, alright?"

Cullen led them all to his and Evelyn's tent where they sat at a small table around an oil lamp. Varric set down a letter he was holding and reached into his jacket to pull out a flask. He offered it to Cullen, who just looked at it askance.

"Trust me Curly. You're going to need it when I tell you what's in this letter." He pointed at the parchment and offered the flask again.

"Just get on with it Varric." Cullen ordered.

"Suit yourself." The dwarf shrugged. "Hawke is at Skyhold."

Cullen took a slow deep breath. Then he reached out, took Varric's flask from him and drank the whole thing.

xxxx

Cullen did nothing but silently brood for the rest of the evening. The letter Varric received from Hawke was vague, simply informing him that she was at Skyhold, had friends with her and had several matters to discuss that were relevant to the war. Evelyn could understand why having Hawke suddenly appear would make an already tense world state even more so, but Cullen's apprehension about the Champion of Kirkwall's presence seemed more personal.

In the interest of honesty, something she would never take for granted again, Evelyn broached the subject with him when they settled on their cot. He laid back and tried to pull her down onto his chest as had quickly become their sleeping habit, but she squirmed away. She indulged in the advantages of a small bed and straddled him, with her knees astride his waist and her backside nestled between his thighs. When he was able, she now knew, he slept naked preferring cool air against his skin. Though she preferred the feeling of _him_ against _her_ skin, sleeping in a tent was draftier than she liked so she took to wearing one of his shirts.

He looked up at her and the tense muscles of his face that had been twisted into a scowl since hearing Varric's news relaxed. He ran his hands up her bare legs and under his shirt. She sighed at the warmth of his touch both in the physical sense and in the intention of it. She could easily get distracted and let him convince her that she meant to make love to him instead of talk, but she wanted to understand what he'd been worrying over.

"Cullen, is there something about Hawke that has you troubled? Aside from the obvious?"

He removed his hands from her and lifted them to rub his face wearily. "Evelyn, I hope you never have to know just how many things about Marian Hawke are troubling. That being said, yes, there is something. She knew me at a difficult time in my life. I want you to know that the man she knew is not who I am now."

Cullen paused and took on a pensive expression. "I never told anyone what happened to me at Ferelden's Circle."

"Cullen, you don't have to."

He grabbed her hands and held them in his. "I do. You need to know who I was, and I would have you hear it from me."

Evelyn remained silent, still settled atop him, while he gathered his thoughts. When he spoke, his words were emotionless and distant.

"During the Blight, Kinloch Hold fell to blood mages. Demons and maleficarum overran us. We were...I was…"

Cullen paused to draw her into his arms. She laid down on his chest and let him speak into her hair while he stared at the canvas of the tent above their heads. There was some pain in life that wasn't meant to be re-lived with someone you loved, pain in the past that you never wanted to see reflected in their eyes. So, she looked away but held him tight as he recounted his past. In horrifyingly clinical detail, he told her everything. She learned every detail of young innocence corrupted by torture and of the rage and hate and bitterness that grew from it. She learned how those negative emotions shaped him and thus shaped Kirkwall and shaped his place in how the world was changed forever. It was a different man he spoke of, but it wasn't. She had felt these scars, these wounds inside him and now she understood them.

"I have no idea how many mages I've killed...how many _people_ I've killed. So many. Too many to count. But they weren't _people_ to me then. They were only _weapons_…"

Evelyn stiffened against him. Solas' words echoed in her ears.

_"__He believes mages are weapons...objects of danger that need to be controlled by another…."_

Cullen sat up abruptly and grasped her shoulders. He looked deeply into her eyes when he continued.

"I want nothing to do with who I was. I want nothing to do with that life. It is why I stopped taking lyrium. I need you to know this. I've _changed_. I have farther yet to go but I _can_, I _will_ change..."

Evelyn silenced him with a kiss. It was rough and urgent. He accepted it, because he accepted her. As she accepted him. Every part of him. There was no more need for him to deny his past than it was for her to deny hers. They had both suffered, faltered, failed, struggled, recovered and now sought redemption. To deny any part of that past was to deny their very essence. Those trials that taught and tempered them were vital to who they were now, a man and a woman, and yes, a Templar and a mage who could love one another.

She broke their kiss. Possessed of a strange curiosity and a determined streak of ownership over herself and her magic, she tried something. It was something that might help him find ownership in himself as he helped her to find their first night together.

Evelyn sat back and held her hands up to him. Without taking her eyes away from him, she ignited fire in her palms. The flames danced between her fingers glowing red, yellow and orange. If she thought too much on it, she would retreat. If she focused on the strange desires coursing through her she might second guess, so she pushed aside doubt and moved forward. She spoke quickly but clearly, perhaps too loud and perhaps too forcefully, but she couldn't allow herself to back down from this. _He_ needed it. _She_ needed it. _They_ needed it.

"Cullen. Touch me."

The Inquisitor ordered the Commander. The mage ordered the Templar. And he obeyed.

Cullen stared down at her burning hands for only a moment and then he touched her. Slowly lacing his fingers through hers, he shared in her fire.

Evelyn had to concentrate to control the heat. Cullen's grip was firm and unwavering as her flames licked at him. She could feel the Templar in him push back at her power. By increments, they gave each other more and more of themselves, fire and smite, push and pull, back and forth. Neither was burned. Both of them _burned_.

A rush of lust surged through Evelyn when Cullen finally pried his eyes away from their joined hands and looked into her eyes. The hunger she saw there, burning bright gold in the light of her magic, made her tingle from her fingertips to her toes.

Momentarily distracted by the passion that poured from him, she lost her focus and her spell briefly lost its potency. In response to the silence in his hands, her flames hissed out of existence. In one quick blur of movement, Cullen surged through the smoky remnants of her magic and crushed her in a kiss. He threw his weight forward and she fell backwards against the cot arching into him, opening her legs for him. She shamelessly clung to the muscles of his back and sent tickles of ice down through his spine.

He gasped at the cold and then moaned into her mouth, long and loud and with one long stroke he penetrated her. Deep and strong, like their union, he slid inside her. She could almost feel their love grow with the growing pulse of their arousal. Thrust by thrust, she was rocked by him, until frost from her fingers expanded down his broad back eliciting a shiver. He threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut but he maintained his rhythm. Harder, faster, he took her and bolder she became. She reached inside herself and found the magic she'd once used to heal him.

She let the tight and blissful feeling of him filling her take over as she let loose her healing touch. _She_ penetrated _him_ now with her magic, seeking out the hurt of his past. The old wounds were dwarfed by the magnitude of her devotion and she was determined to leave her mark on his very soul. Her mark. Her magic. He was _hers_ and she was _his_ and without warning she climaxed. Shuddering and convulsing, she lost her concentration again, succumbing to his solid reality as it numbed her silent into oblivion.

She was left blinded, deafened and distant. She barely felt him spill inside her while calling out broken phrases of adoration into her ear all beginning and ending with her name.

When it was done and they were spent, man, woman, mage, Templar weakened by their rapture, they slept. She held him tight and he held her, dead to the world that had scarred them and yet alive and thriving in each other's arms.

xxxx

Cullen awoke in Skyhold, but he wasn't awake. He knew the Fade for what it was but this was not part of the Fade his twisted dreams had ever brought him to. The whole place smelled of Evelyn. Her hair, her skin, her magic, the scent of it all was rich and thick. He smiled. Had he ever smiled in a dream before?

He was alone in his loft but he could hear soft murmurs below on the battlements. He only had to blink and then he found himself outside, without having descended the ladder or exiting his office. Evelyn stood in the imaginary cold wearing nothing but his shirt. She had her back turned to him, watching the hooded figure of someone walking away down the long stretch of stone wall.

Cullen walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She settled back against him.

"Is this your dream?" He asked her.

"No." She said the single word with a certainty that worried him, but he had no idea why.

He turned her to face him. "What do you mean?" Cullen looked around and poked his nose in the air, smelling her all around him again. "This place _feels_ like you. Who was that? Were you speaking to someone before I arrived?"

"It's Solas. I think this is his dream. I think it's always been his dream…" Her sentence trailed off, again worrisome. "As to this place feeling like me, I've come here many times. Solas told you he trained me. This is where he did it."

For a moment Cullen didn't breath and his blood that always ran hot shot through his veins like shards of ice.

"Solas trained you to use your magic in the _Fade_? While you _dreamed_?"

_Of all the reckless fucking deeds!_

Cullen released his lover and stepped back, trying to keep his irate disbelief in check.

_You love her. You've changed. Remember that. _

The voice of calm and reason in his head wasn't loud enough. Even after the bliss they'd just shared, the trust. Even then, he felt himself sliding back down a slippery slope. He wanted to stop himself. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to _not be who he was_ and just be a man sharing a dream with his beloved.

He failed. Utterly. Completely. "Evelyn," Even her name was a harsh accusation on his tongue. "Do you have any idea how _dangerous_ your actions were? Did he convince you to do this?"

"I asked him." There was no defiance in her statement, no denial. Tears pooled in her dark eyes as she continued. "He knew what I was from the moment I awoke in Haven after the Conclave. I begged him not to tell anyone. After my father's visit, I knew for certain I couldn't go back to my old life. I'd barely even acknowledged my magic let alone used it, but I wanted to help the Inquisition. I...I wanted to change, somehow, I just didn't know what to do." A tremor appeared in her speech but she forced herself to finish her explanation.

"I asked him to help me. I didn't intend for it to be here." She waved her arm at the doppelganger of Skyhold. "That first night, I slept and he was there. I knew the risks. Do you think I didn't know the risks?" Her voice had gone wild along with her eyes. Cullen felt the fake air waver around her. The change was small, almost imperceptible. He clenched his hands into fists, but kept listening.

"I _hated_ it." She was almost screaming now. Shrill and sad and lonely. "I only wanted to learn how to control it. I never wanted to use it! Any of it! I _hate_ it! But I had no choice! I didn't see any other choice!"

"No choice?" It was Cullen's turn to shout, mocking her words. He wanted to be silent, he'd tried, but the Fade was suffocating him now, crawling along his skin. Evelyn's presence that had permeated the place a moment ago was rapidly dissolving, her emotions getting the better of her and turning into doubt, uncertainty, fear.

_Maker help you if you have to intervene._

"You were surrounded by Templars! You could have told _me_! Do you think I couldn't have helped?"

_What are doing? You're making it worse!_

The smell of sulfur burned in his nostrils. Tears streamed down Evelyn's face.

"I know." She barely choked out the words. "I didn't…I couldn't…" Clapping her hands over her ears, she squeezed her eyes shut and started chanting.

_She hears them. Do something._

Cullen lunged at her and gathered her in his arms. The magic pouring out of her was a far cry from the healing touch he welcomed when he was buried inside her. He pushed back against the chaos that threatened to overwhelm her, drawing it into himself, quelling it, silencing it, smiting it, stealing it away from her, stealing the essence of her. As his breathing quickened, hers slowed. His heart pounded. Hers settled. She relaxed. He pulled away feeling _sick_.

"Cullen," she reached out to him but when he shuddered, she recoiled. "Cullen, I'm so sorry…"

He held up his hand and she stopped talking. He was dizzy, pain exploded in his head, his gut roiled.

"I can't be here...any longer...I need…" He looked around frantically for an escape. How did one leave a nightmare that wasn't their own? He needed to be free of the Fade _immediately_…

Blackness tunneled his vision and he felt as if he would fall. He stumbled, staggered, blind. Skyhold disappeared. He closed his eyes and fell.

When he opened his eyes again it was with the shock of a hard landing. Back in their tent, laying on their cot he awoke. Evelyn was sobbing next to him, her face in her hands, as she repeated a sorrowful stream of apologies over and over, broken only by fragmented lines from the Chant.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her tears away and soothe her, be strong for her, show her he _loved_ her more than anything, that his love was larger than the Fade, that she was everything, _everything_ to him.

He scrambled out of bed too ashamed to stay, too ashamed of what he'd said, what he'd done, his doubt, his mistrust and too ashamed to let her see him like this. Tearing through the tent, struggling to pull on his trousers and bursting out into the night, he only made it half a dozen steps before he fell to his knees and vomited.

Like an old unwanted friend, his attack of withdrawal came, wreaked its havoc and eventually passed, but it was longer than normal after having used his Templar abilities so unexpectedly.

He woke half the camp with his retching, but his men had the good sense to turn around and mind their own business after they saw it was him and that he wouldn't need assistance. The same could not be said for Solas. Cullen saw the elf across the camp, standing by a fire that was burned down to embers. He leaned on his staff, and stared directly at where Cullen was still prostrate on the ground.

Cullen would go back into his tent. To Evelyn. He would hold her, apologize to her, beg her to still have him. He would tell her he loved her and vow to weather any storm they were forced to endure. They would stumble, but they would help each other up and move on. They would have a life together free of their past if he had to dismantle the Fade himself and every demon therein. But first, he had unfinished business.

He rose and strode barefoot, half naked, to where Solas stood still staring at him. Solas said nothing when they were face to face, but Cullen didn't need him to speak. He only needed him to listen.

"_Never_ invade our dreams again."

Cullen snarled the order out and it felt _good _on his lips. Then, with the pent up rage he'd been collecting, holding onto, coveting for just the right moment, he pulled back his fist and punched Solas in the face.


	28. Pride and Prejudice

_A/N: Just picture Cullen as Mr. Darcy and tell me that's not hot. Go ahead. Try. ;) Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**_Chapter 28: Pride and Prejudice_**

Cullen was vaguely aware of people running to help Solas up off the ground. He tried not to think about the earful he would get from Cassandra in the morning, focusing instead on getting back to Evelyn. His head was still throbbing from sickness and fogged from sleep but he felt better than when he came running outside. Well-directed violence did wonders for the soul.

He ducked inside their tent to find Evelyn composed and sitting on the bed. She was no longer crying, but her face was still red with the tears that had already fallen. Though she was quiet, she was staring so intently at nothing he knew she was probably reciting verses of the Chant silently in her head.

He went over to sit down next to her. She didn't acknowledge him at first so he reached out to take her hand. He was reassured when she squeezed him back but his hopes that she'd truly calmed down were dashed when he realized she felt _different_. It wasn't a new sensation he got from her simply one he didn't think he would feel again. Her magic was buried deep, hidden away as she'd kept it before he knew what she was. A pervasive coldness had returned to her aura. The warmth of love and relative peace they'd found the past days on the road were now negated in the aftermath of their upsetting dream. Whatever fortress she built within her to sequester her magic was in use again and the gates were shut.

He reminded himself what it had been like when he first stopped taking lyrium. The elation that came with having finally made the decision, the whiff of freedom that he experienced initially were both heady and seductive but all too fleeting. Those emotions were followed by desperate doubt and an uncontrollable urge to find respite from the craving in anything that was familiar. Those were the feelings that lingered. Many days still came and went where he wished for nothing more than to belong to Andraste again, back with his brothers, in his old armor with his old sword and a philter of lyrium tucked away in his drawer. He imagined it would be the same for Evelyn for a time. She would step forward, then fear, then pull back. He would have to make sure her small retreats did not mean surrender.

"It's my turn to apologize, Evelyn." He wasn't sure what he was going to say next or how to explain the prejudices that sometimes still ruled over him, but he knew he had to apologize for them.

"I swear it won't happen again Cullen." It didn't seem as though she'd heard him. "When you saw Solas walking away from me in the Fade he'd already told me it was no longer appropriate to instruct me, but even before that, I was going to end it. I swear, I didn't ever _want _to do it, I don't ever want to do it again. I won't. I don't need to. I was careless, _reckless_, just as you said. I don't know what I thought would come of how I've been acting, but it's going to stop."

Cullen shook his head. He would have to pit his stubbornness against hers. "Evelyn, no. If I wasn't a Templar this wouldn't have happened. It's my fault. I won't allow you to stifle yourself for the rest of your life."

"But my weakness forced you to act when you shouldn't have had to. I _hurt_ you." She closed her eyes and her voice lowered to a whisper. "Cullen, I'm not strong enough to stop loving you. I can't give you up, but I am strong enough to give up my magic. It's what I've always done and it's what I will continue to do._ I _won't allow it to come between us or have it cause you harm ever again."

So much about their respective plights was similar, it pained Cullen to hear her and see her suffer the hardships he knew well.

"You did _not_ hurt me and you're _not_ going back to wearing the chains that were forced on you. Would you have me go back to taking lyrium?" Even saying those words to prove a point made his gut clench in fear that the possibility of failure, the possibility that he might one day succumb to weakness, would forever darken his days.

"Maker, no! Cullen I would never suggest…"

He interrupted her and pressed on. "Letting you go back to denying your magic would be the same and I won't do that to you. We must set aside the poison that was imposed on us."

Evelyn nodded her head in weary assent but remained quiet. Cullen knew she was just appeasing him. She'd already made up her mind to stop using her magic entirely in a misguided attempt at protecting him. He would have to find a way to convince her otherwise.

Cullen maneuvered them on the small cot so they were lying beside one another.

"I don't want to go to sleep." She confessed with guilt still tinging her words.

"You don't have to." He replied. "Just lay with me, please?"

"Always." She whispered as she snuggled into his chest.

They spent the rest of the night in each other's arms, avoiding sleep. He held her tightly, wanting to protect her from all threats great and small, even those in her dreams, but he wondered helplessly how he could possibly save the woman he loved from herself. Once again a mage was in his charge, but this time he would be trying to cultivate magic rather than suppress it. It was beautiful insane irony, but he would have it no other way, as he would have her no other way.

More days passed in much the same fashion. Evelyn was reserved. Cullen was watchful. They did not share anymore dreams, but neither had they slept much. When they were intimate, Evelyn made no attempts to introduce her magic into their lovemaking again.

Cullen wondered if it was perversion that he missed it, wanted it, _longed for it_, but he said nothing, not wanting to push her. He still had no idea how he could get her to resume using her magic. When she fought with appropriate support, she had no need of it. She was able to close rifts using only the Anchor in her hand.

He considered asking Dorian or Enchanter Vivienne if they would be willing to train her. He hoped they could show her that balance was possible and that she could use her abilities freely but also cautiously. He hoped they could show her that there was middle ground between total refusal and falling to demon temptation.

In each case, however, he found a reason not to approach them. He respected Dorian, but the magic he used was not at all similar to Evelyn's and Cullen admitted to still holding a general mistrust of Tevinter practices in general. There were no such reservations regarding Vivienne, but being a mage trained in a Circle, Cullen knew well the rigidity with which her knowledge had been structured and the limitations on it. More Chantry dogma was not what his very repressed mage needed.

The Inquisitor needed a mentor with sufficient skill and wisdom, both conventional and unconventional. Disgustedly, Cullen realized that Solas _had _been a good choice, and as Evelyn had said, her only choice, if not for his obsession with dreams and the Fade. That territory was too dangerous to tread on and Evelyn would not be persuaded down that path again, nor would he want her to be.

Cullen was turning these same problems over and over in his head late one afternoon while sitting by the fire outside their tent. They would reach Skyhold imminently and he was eager to be back within the stronghold's walls, even if he wasn't eager for the encounters that awaited him there. Having the inevitable and difficult discussions with his fellow advisors about Evelyn's deception was not something he was looking forward to. And then there was Hawke. Another encounter he could do without. The woman had dark clouds over her head that rivaled his own.

Cleaning up the anarchy she left in her wake after the Chantry explosion had inevitably fallen to him. When he let the mage escape Kirkwall with her friends after Meredith's defeat, it was both a gesture of respect and a desire to have her, her bad luck and the devastation that always followed her as far away as possible. Having her stay in Kirkwall would only have made his job harder. The woman was entropy personified. Nothing good would come from it if she became _more _involved in the world as it was.

It was with the bitter taste of Kirkwall memories still in his mouth, Evelyn approached. She sat down next to him and held out a book. Looking flushed and bright-eyed, it was clear she'd been reading and had learned something new and interesting. Knowledge always excited her. He hoped she would someday find the same excitement learning about her magic.

"Cullen, did you know you're in Varric's book?"

Despite feeling happy that Evelyn looked more like herself than she had in days, Cullen's foul Kirkwall-induced mood was doomed to persist. The book she held was _The Tale of the Champion_.

"Yes. I know." He grumbled. "Where did you even get a copy of that?"

"Varric gave it to me. Since I'll be meeting her I wanted to know as much as possible about Hawke before we arrive back at Skyhold."

Though it had precipitated the predicament they now found themselves in, Cullen was glad he'd taken the opportunity to tell Evelyn of his past himself before her impression of him was colored by the accounts of Varric and Hawke.

"Were you really attacking another Templar when you first met the Champion?"

He knew Evelyn wasn't trying to instigate anything but remembering those days still stung. "I was attacking an Abomination." He corrected her and then, in an attempt to divert her focus away from his past, Cullen changed the subject. "Has Varric received any further correspondence from Hawke regarding why she's emerged from hiding and only now shows up at our doorstep?" That came out every bit as resentful as he intended.

"No, nothing, but…"

Evelyn was cut off by a sudden loud crash and angry shouting. Both of them jumped up and ran towards the source of the commotion which turned out to be Cassandra and Varric. The Seeker had Varric cornered near the supply wagons and several splintered crates were strewn about suggesting their use as projectiles to get him into that corner.

She was about to lunge at the hapless dwarf, but Cullen saw it coming and was able to grab her and spin her away. The next moments were a flurry of holding Cassandra back and Evelyn trying to step in front of Varric to offer protection.

"Stand aside, Commander!" Cassandra growled through clenched teeth. "The dwarf needs to explain himself!"

Cullen could only guess Cassandra found out who was waiting for them at Skyhold. As he struggled to intercept another lunge, Varric yelled out from behind Evelyn.

"Careful, Curly! I hear Seeker over there can 'set the lyrium in a Templar's blood aflame'."

Cullen snorted while trying to incapacitate Cassandra in a bear hug. "Not this Templar."

Lacking sufficient lyrium in his blood to set him on fire, the Seeker finally settled down and stopped attacking. Cullen didn't think she would ever actually try to harm him, or Varric for that matter, but she was still quite intimidating when provoked.

More calmly now, but no less hostile, Cassandra continued her accusations. "He knew where the Champion was _all this time_!"

"I was protecting a friend. You couldn't possibly have expected me to give her up to a Seeker of Truth at the point of a sword. Curly was the one who let her leave in the first place. Why don't you go throw some shit at him?"

"You didn't even know why we were looking for her!"

"Well, I do now and I'm not sorry you didn't find her. She's been dealt enough shitty hands in life."

It was obvious Varric felt badly about the statement as soon as it left his mouth. All their eyes went immediately to Evelyn, specifically to her mark. In Hawke's absence, she was the one who'd been dealt a poor hand.

"Kitten, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright Varric." Evelyn answered his apology with a small smile. "This is the Maker's path for me. I'm grateful for it and I hope to continue to serve."

Finally, Evelyn's forced patience in waiting for Cassandra's verdict on her fate was rewarded. Cassandra straightened and looked directly into the Inquisitor's eyes.

"You are right, Inquisitor. Varric's deception, _while no less troublesome_, is meaningless now. This is the Maker's path for all of us."

To Cullen, it sounded like Cassandra was not only addressing Varric's deception, but Evelyn's as well.

The Seeker's speech was sincere and resolute. "I hope you will continue to serve the Maker and our people as Inquisitor and I will recommend such to Leliana and Josephine."

Without waiting to see the grateful smiles of Cullen and Evelyn, or the shocked gaping of Varric, Cassandra turned on her heel and walked away.

Later that night, Cullen made a point of finding Cassandra so that he could thank her for supporting Evelyn. The Seeker was sitting on a tree stump at the edge of camp huddled over a book. She slammed it shut and sat on it when she saw him coming.

"I just wanted to say thank you, Seeker. More than anyone, she wanted you to understand."

"More than _anyone_?" Cassandra folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean." Cullen scolded. "Anyway, thank you. From her and from me. Your faith in both of us will not go unrewarded, I promise you."

"See that it doesn't, Commander." The Seeker spoke sternly, but Cullen knew the depth of Cassandra's devotion and the affection for her friends that hid behind her brusque demeanor. Offering a rare glimpse of that affection, she called out to him as he moved to leave. She was wearing a strange grin when he turned back around.

"And Commander…," she said with greedy fascination, "When you carried her off the battlefield, it was the most romantic thing I've ever seen."

Cullen thought he might have stuttered out some words in reply, but the only thing he remembered was the hot blush in his cheeks and the Seeker pulling out her book and burying her nose in it again as he walked away.

xxxx

At Varric's request, as soon as they arrived back at Skyhold, the dwarf took Evelyn to meet Hawke by themselves while the Inquisition's advisors met without the Inquisitor.

Cullen shifted his weight between his feet uncomfortably. He felt like he'd been standing for hours in the war room under Leliana's piercing gaze and her concentrated scrutiny. Cassandra seemed as if she was faring better, answering all of the spymaster's questions with logical and succinct precision.

The difficult debriefing was made even more so by the somber and silent presence of Josephine. Their Ambassador was clad in black, her bright and clever disposition muted by her mourning. Her younger sister in Orlais had not been as fortunate as Cullen's family. Leliana's people were not able to reach her before the Venatori assassins did. Though Cullen had never met the girl, he felt her loss acutely and vowed to direct the pain of their failure into crushing those who had acted against them.

Focusing on the proceedings once again, Cullen listened as Cassandra listed off assurances to Leliana that keeping Evelyn in place as Inquisitor was the right thing to do.

"Enchanter Vivienne will assure the free mages stand beside Lady Trevelyan. Fiona won't be happy, but she has long since lost her influence over them."

Cullen added, "Ser Barris and I feel the Inquisition Templars will continue to support her as well. The men and women who followed me from Kirkwall and those I conscripted at Therinfal are all good people and loyal. They know her and she's taken the time to get to know them. Mage or no, they will follow her."

"There's no need to feel nervous about the fate of your lover, Commander." Leliana crooned at him with half a smile.

His first instinct was to tell the Nightingale to mind her own business, but he thought better of it and remained silent, choosing instead to grit his teeth and clench his fist on the pommel of his sword.

"I support the Inquisitor," she continued, "and I know all of our people will continue to do so. The Maker works in mysterious ways and it is our duty to accept them. The same cannot be said, however, for some of our benefactors who have less faith than we do."

Josephine finally spoke. "I will take care of that." She said with finality. "There is nothing here that cannot be spun to our advantage. Her_ father_ was the one who forced her into hiding in plain sight."

Cullen was taken aback at Josephine's tone. He'd never heard her refer to someone with such malice, let alone a member of the peerage. He now listened to her intently.

"I will have supporters rising up in droves to tend to the needs of our organization _and_ our pious and devout Inquisitor when they find out how she was manipulated. The people love stories of triumph over adversity and perseverance in the face of oppression. Especially when the information you've gathered spreads, Leliana."

Cullen and Cassandra exchanged confused looks, and then turned expectant gazes at the Spymaster. Leliana set a piece of parchment down on the table.

"These are the names of the casualties the Inquisition suffered as a result of the attacks on our families. You'll notice there are no Trevelyans listed. And it is not because we succeeded in protecting them from the enemy forces."

Cullen's heart paused along with the brief pause in Leliana's explanation and a heavy feeling of foreboding weighed down the atmosphere in the war room. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"Bann Trevelyan has personally taken command of the Red Templar army. Those of the Order who remained in the Marches, who did not follow the Lord Seeker, and those who abandoned Therinfal were coerced into uniting under him in opposition to the Inquisition. They were rewarded by being corrupted with red lyrium. Apparently, the man was not so loyal to the Chantry as he was to his own acquisition of power and he seeks to back who he presumes will hold all the power at the end of this. With the Divine dead, he is betting on Corypheus being the victor rather than his daughter. He's been building an army and influence for our enemy. He _is_ our enemy. It was he who spearheaded this attack on us."

Cullen's rage surfaced for what felt like the thousandth time on Evelyn's behalf.

"I'll tell her." He said. Someone had to, and he preferred to protect her himself from this cold revelation at the hands of Leliana. He couldn't soften the blow for her, but he could hold her after he dealt it.

"Thank you, Commander." Cullen thought he saw something akin to sympathy in Leliana's eyes. "I have no doubt you would also like to lead operations to directly oppose the Bann and his Red Templars so I've compiled all of our intelligence in a report for you..."

She held out another parchment and Cullen took it from her. He was about to thank her when she dropped the other shoe.

"..._however_, dealing with Lady Trevelyan's father is not our most pressing issue at the moment. I assume you know of the illustrious guest we currently have in residence?"

_Hawke_. Cullen sighed. He'd almost forgotten.

"She arrived shortly after you sent word from South Reach, Commander. Her sister, Bethany, is with her. She is a Warden and brings troubling news as well as a request for aid. The Templars are not the only force Corypheus set out to subvert."

The advisors talked strategy long into the night. When they parted it was agreed that Cullen would bring Evelyn up to speed and find out what insights she had gained from meeting with the Hawke sisters away from the scrutiny of the Inquisition command structure.

Cullen left the war room like a man on his way to the gallows. He had no desire to place more burdens on Evelyn, but she had to know about her father's involvement with the enemy and it was best she find out first from him, in private, without the crushing guilt of simultaneously seeing Josephine in mourning and knowing it was her blood who was ultimately responsible. He knew Evelyn would take on the sins of her father as her own, however unnecessary, and try to make things right, but they had the Wardens to deal with first.

He almost didn't notice Evelyn standing alone in the great hall staring at the throne. She looked so small in the huge room, beneath the vaulted ceiling. She was both the same person who last sat in that chair and someone completely different.

"Hawke came through the Free Marches to get here." She spoke in a small voice, to match her diminutive appearance. "Fenris is with her. They were attacked by Venatori and Red Templars. Her sister is with her as well, the warden. But you know all this already."

Cullen's duty to tell Evelyn of her father was sadly unnecessary. He heard it in her voice and saw it on her face.

"Hawke asked me if I was '_the noble brat whose father sent the red lyrium bastards_' after her."

Cullen moved to stand next to her. "That sounds like Hawke. I'm sorry you had to find out like this. I was on my way to tell you."

Evelyn shook her head. "It's alright. I'm glad Hawke was able to survive the encounter. She and her sister need our help. I'm glad for their sake, and that of the wardens in Orlais, that they were able to make it here alive. But, I understand we lost Josephine's sister?"

"We did." Nothing else Cullen could say would be of any solace, so he didn't bother to waste his breath.

Evelyn reached her fingers out tentatively towards his and he took the opportunity to pull her into an embrace. He worried she would be upset both at the losses they suffered and the unpleasant encounter with Hawke, but she seemed more resigned.

"It isn't really power he wants. He wants order and control. Though, I suppose control is its own sort of power."

As the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, Cullen wanted to hear more about the Bann's motivations. Knowing everything possible about the enemy was his top priority. As a man in love with a woman, Cullen didn't think he could bear to listen to how exactly Evelyn had become so jaded by the tyranny of her father.

With a deep sigh, she stepped back from him and pointed at the door to her quarters. "Is my bedroom still at the top of those stairs?"

Her blithe question was both a deliberate change of subject and a veiled but serious inquiry as to her continued status as Inquisitor.

"It is. If you want it to be." Cullen could promise her a comfortable place to rest but not an easy job to do when she woke.

"I don't."

Before disbelief could properly register, she finished her answer.

"Not unless you're there beside me."

She didn't need to hide behind double meanings but, in any case, his response was the same.

"This isn't something transient, Evelyn. I will be beside you as long as I draw breath. I swear it."

She led him upstairs and he silently followed, knowing both of them were done with talking and listening for the day. For the first time, they made love in a proper bed, slowly and tenderly, each lingering kiss and languid thrust an act of defiance against the rapidly building turmoil of the world around them.

When she finally yielded reluctantly to sleep, he lay awake holding her, again, mulling over how to help her through the maelstrom. The solution was not more rigidity as her father had forced on her, even though she was still doggedly practicing it, unable to break free of the oppression that had so deeply scarred her.

She needed someone to continue teaching her how to use her magic without shame but, without the heedlessness and isolation of training in the Fade.

And then it came to him.

He hated that it came to him. He wanted to dismiss the idea, to reject it entirely. He was changed, but he didn't want to be _that_ changed.

Evelyn stirred beside him. When she slept now, it was as he did. Fitful and troubled.

_That _was what he needed to change. He would have to swallow his sense, his pride, his fear, and his loathing, all to help provide Evelyn with the change she needed. He would combat order with chaos.

He would ask Hawke.


	29. Questions and Parallels

_**Chapter 29: Questions and Parallels**_

If anything could be said of Cullen Rutherford, it would be that he was a thoughtful man who always tried to exercise careful consideration of strategy. Once he made the move to implement those strategies, he was confident that he'd weighed all his options and had ultimately come to the best decisions, even if they were difficult ones.

Cullen had, apparently, abandoned those principles somewhere on a Ferelden back road along with what remained of his sanity.

"Let me get this straight, _Templar.._."

Hawke stood across from Cullen in his office. His doors were open and she paused briefly to let a mortified messenger place a parchment on the desk and then tiptoe away.

He cursed himself for not closing the doors. He was certain that no matter what Hawke was going to say to him, he would rather it not be gossiped about over a pint at the pub that evening by every soldier within eavesdropping distance.

"I'm not a _Templar_ any longer, Hawke, as I've told you several times already." At this point he would almost prefer she call him Curly. In all the years they'd reluctantly worked together in Kirkwall, she had never once addressed him by his rank or his name, and it seemed likely he was to retain the anonymous and derisive appellation of 'Templar'.

"You want _me_, an unapologetic and life-long apostate, to train the Inquisitor? Does that Seeker Bitch know about this?"

"No, _Seeker Pentaghast _does not know about this, but it doesn't matter. This is a personal request of sorts, though it will ultimately benefit the Inquisition."

"Are you trying to get me to teach your girlfriend some magic sex tricks? I fail to see how that would 'ultimately benefit the Inquisition' but, you could probably use some. You look like shit."

"Tread carefully, Hawke." Cullen warned, but she ignored him and continued to prod.

"You quit taking the lyrium, didn't you? Leash get a little too tight? Well good for you for finally biting off the Chantry hand that fed you, but either way, I'm done doing favors for Templars, collared or not. I'm only here to help my sister."

Cullen resisted the urge to throw her out of his office and out of Skyhold altogether. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

_She's right on all counts. _

"Your sister is here to help the Wardens and the Inquisition is prepared to offer its full assistance, which includes the Inquisitor herself. I'm not going to pretend Varric hasn't told you everything. Lady Trevelyan's circumstances have left her with precious little training in the use of her magic. She is capable enough without it but, I would like to see her utilize all the skills at her disposal. This is a war. We must all serve to our highest potential if we are to win."

"Oh please." Hawke rolled her eyes. "Pawn your noble sentiments off on someone who doesn't know how many mages you had a hand in making Tranquil. If your grandiose Inquisition wants to get the most use out of its token mage figurehead before you build a new Circle to put her in, find another fool to help you. This fool knows all about what happens when the powers-that-be use a token mage to hold shit together and fix all the problems."

She offered him a two finger salute and continued her rant.

"Fuck you if you think I'm going to help you sell out another poor soul to that fate. Besides, from what I hear, she's perfectly happy playing the repressed little submissive for her Templar handler." She nodded her head at him, the implication obvious. "I'm sure she _does her duty_ to you just fine, _Commander Cullen_, no need for me to show her how." Hawke punctuated her argument by making a lewd gesture with her hand.

Cullen had to stop himself from jumping over his desk to throttle _The_ _Champion_.

_Just like old times._

He silently seethed until he was ready to speak with a measure of professionalism again. Hawke stood quietly with her arms folded, looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to take her bait. Holding her tongue, however, had never been one of her few virtues.

"Huh. Well, Fenris won I guess. Varric said you didn't have quite as big a stick up your arse as you used to now that you're in love, with a mage no less, albeit a self-loathing one. I didn't believe him but Fenris did. Apparently he's as much your supporter now as he always was. We made a bet. It seems I've lost since you didn't hurdle this desk just now and try to smite me. I'm going to owe him something I could teach to your Inquisitor if you're interested." Hawke winked at him.

_Maker give me strength._

Cullen spoke slowly and with great effort to stay civil. "Your crass implications aside, I want Lady Trevelyan to learn how to be comfortable using her magic. Her safety and survival benefit us all and benefit me in particular for the reason you've mentioned."

"So you _do_ want me to teach her kinky magic tricks?"

"It benefits me because I care for her Hawke! Maker's Breath but you are _the_ most infuriating person I've ever had the misfortune to be continually forced to deal with! I must be mad to have thought you would take this seriously!" He hadn't wanted to degenerate into shouting but there it was and it was his own damn fault. As she'd always been, Hawke was by turns irreverent, angry and far too entertained by her own tactless wit.

"Why exactly are you swallowing your pride enough to ask _me_ of all mages to do this? What makes you think I'd have the patience to teach your pampered little noble girl? The little priss acts like she's too good to get her hands dirty with magic."

Cullen took a calming breath and struggled to keep his voice low.

"There are many mages within the Inquisition who are adept at their craft but you have both a unique perspective and a unique set of experiences that I would think you could pass on."

"I can only imagine that by 'unique' you mean 'horrendously unfortunate'. Given that, your Inquisitor seems to share my 'uniqueness' so I suppose I can see where some _actual_ training might benefit her and not the useless nonsense they teach Circle mages. Just don't think I'm going to be pulling any punches if I do this."

"'_If_' you do this? Do I have to remind you that _you_ actually owe _me_? Your bad luck could have extended to being taken down by a mob of angry Andrastians and all of the Templars in Kirkwall if I hadn't let you leave peacefully."

Things were getting bitter quickly. Cullen was scowling and he had the pommel of his sword in a vice grip. Hawke was flushed and ready for a fight, wearing her signature evil little smirk. The woman thrived on conflict. He hated that about her. And yet, her causes had always been just, her hands always ready to aid those most in need and her will always stronger than those who opposed her. She was a survivor. That was why he respected her, as agitated as she always made him. That was what Evelyn needed to learn from her.

Hawke was about to sling more mud back at him and he prepared himself to take it. Thankfully though, their increasingly childish exchange was interrupted.

"Marian, enough. You're going to help the man. Stop making him work for it. We owe him." Fenris stood in the doorway, glaring.

Hawke visibly changed. When mere seconds ago she was chomping at the bit to battle it out with him, after only a handful of words from Fenris, all of her hard edges instantly softened and she relaxed her fighting stance. Her 'fuck you Templar' smirk transformed into a genuine smile, warm and strangely alluring when she turned towards the elf.

"If a girl can't have a bit of fun poking at a Templar for old time's sake, then this world really has fallen to shit. Fine then, Templar. Apparently my better half has spoken. My vast and formidable survival skills are at your disposal. Just have your little chit on the training grounds at dawn. Might want to bring a healer with you. If she gets hurt that's on you. I'm a shit healer." Hawke brushed past Fenris to leave Cullen's office. "Come on, my love. Let's find Bethy and Varric. They'll love hearing about this."

Hawke immediately walked off across the battlements, obviously not wanting to let Cullen have the last word. Fenris lingered in the doorway.

"Thank you for that." Cullen offered.

The low and reserved chuckle that Fenris gave in response made Cullen feel more unnerved than all of Hawke's bluster. "She would have relented eventually and I wouldn't thank me until your Inquisitor emerges from this training unscathed, Commander."

Fenris followed Hawke, leaving Cullen alone with his potentially pyrrhic victory.

xxxx

Evelyn was asleep face down in a book when Varric tapped her on the shoulder. She'd spent most of the day in the library combing through the musty stacks, searching for texts that might arm her with more knowledge to help the Warden. Sleep did not come easily recently and most nights found her matching Cullen's insomnia. When she did finally rest, so late into the night it was nearly morning, or in awkward moments when her body could no longer resist, her sleep was dreamless. That might have been a comfort in days past, but for some reason now it only seemed troubling that she either could not remember her time in the Fade or she simply couldn't sleep deeply enough to get there.

"Hey. Kitten. How long have you been up here? Why don't you give it a rest and come have a drink with us."

Evelyn stretched and yawned. She wondered if she would be able to recapture slumber if she retired straight to bed. Even if she couldn't, she wanted to see Cullen. He'd been so busy since their return to Skyhold, there hadn't been much time to spend together.

"Thank you, Varric, but I really should go to bed."

"You know, Kitten, after what I just heard is on your agenda in the morning, you're probably right. You should go to bed. You'll need all the rest you can get." Before she could ask what he meant, he held up a hand and shook his head. "Curly will tell you all about it. Sweet dreams."

He turned to leave, but Evelyn stopped him. "Varric, wait, may I ask you something about Hawke?" She'd been increasingly preoccupied not just with their Warden guest, but with the Champion and Fenris. After their first meeting, however, Evelyn wasn't keen on subjecting herself to Hawke's scrutiny again.

"Sure. But you could just come have a drink and ask her yourself, you know. You aren't usually shy about asking people questions. Something up?" Varric pulled out a chair and sat down.

Evelyn wrinkled her nose, embarrassed. "I don't think she liked me very much." It wasn't that she was disappointed. Hawke wasn't exactly someone she would have been drawn to normally, but after reading Varric's book and after her recent experiences she found she had many things she would like to speak with the Champion about.

"Hawke likes you just fine, Kitten. She's always like that."

"Insulting?"

"Yup."

"Hm." Evelyn bit her lower lip and frowned. "Is she that way with Fenris?"

"With Fenris? Why do you ask?" Varric's voice raised an octave in intrigue.

"Well, your book went into a good bit of detail about their friendship and eventual romance. I know they had troubles, but it's still surprising that he was able to accept her...the way she is...given his history."

"When you say '_the way she is_', why do I think you mean 'the way she's a mage' and not 'the way she's an asshole'?"

"I...I suppose…" Evelyn admitted. "It's just that…"

"Say no more, Your Inquisitorialness. Look. Fenris is a prickly bastard of an elf with a homicidal streak. Put him in front of a blood mage, or even just a mage with an accidental paper cut, and he's gonna kill first and not ask questions at all. Now, Hawke's no blood mage, which makes it easier, but still, to him, she's different."

"Different? How? She's never hid her magic around him, has she? You wrote that he knew almost when they first met that she was a mage."

"Hawke is always just Hawke. She never hid her magic around him, no. But like I said, to him, she's different." Varric shrugged and gave her a look that made her think she was supposed to understand. She didn't and it must have shown on her face.

"Broody may have taken his sweet time admitting it but those two were in love from day one. And I thank them eternally for it. Romance sells. Add some angst, some tragedy, some witty one-liners and a brilliant and handsome writer to get it all on paper and you have yourself a best seller."

"But _how_ can he love her, Varric? She was an apostate in a city full of Templars. Her magic must have been a huge burden, constantly coming between them. It would have been difficult under any circumstances, but for a man so wronged by those who wield magic…"

"Don't get me wrong, you read the story, it wasn't easy for him. Luckily, Hawke's side of their relationship has always been equal parts waiting him out and wearing him down. It's their own special kink. But, it works for them. You really should just talk to Hawke. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to give you tips on how to woo a bitter bastard with a mage-sized chip on his shoulder. Then again, you and Curly haven't been doing too badly on your own. I was worried for a while there. I was beginning to think the Commander and the Herald of Andraste were going to be too boring to write about but then you came swooping in with the whole secret mage thing and well, shit, it got epic instantly."

Varric rose and offered a cryptic closing to his cryptic conversation. "Love makes no sense, Kitten. None. The sooner you get that, the easier it'll be for you. You and Curly both think too much. I'd tell you to stop it, but it's giving me some nice conflict to write about. Can't have it all be swords and sex. Readers like to work for that happy ending."

Varric patted her on the shoulder and walked away, leaving Evelyn with her mountains of books and no more answers than she started with.


	30. Everyday and Tomorrow

**_Chapter 30: Everyday and Tomorrow_**

Cullen and Evelyn had barely slept, yet they woke early in the predawn hours all the same. Though they were still learning how to merge their respective morning rituals, they tried to find new ways each day to feel more _together_ than _separate_. He, indulging in a lingering kiss before rolling from bed. She, allowing her fingers to roam over his chest and shoulders while helping him don his armor. Both, unconsciously moving in tandem with one another to ready themselves for the trials of the day.

In the moments before facing the trial of watching Evelyn spar with Hawke, however, Cullen sadly noted that their cooperative routine was disrupted by her nervous energy and his agitated doubt. They went through their motions in parallel, never touching or intersecting, silent and brooding.

When he told Evelyn about the arrangement he'd made for her training, he made it abundantly clear that she could refuse and they would find other options to further her skills. He _vehemently_ made it clear. With emphasis on _other options_. And assuring her they _would_ find them, despite the fact that he was the one who masterminded what he was now certain would be a disaster of Kirkwall proportions. She dismissed his backtracking of his own terrible idea and insisted they follow through, saying simply that there was 'much she could learn from Hawke.' Just her saying those words made him cringe.

_Why in the Maker's fucking void had he thought this was a good idea?_

Bizarre images of his Evelyn smirking like Hawke and calling him '_Templar' _flashed through his mind. Horrible visions of her sweet innocence corrupted by Hawke's pervasive malcontent tormented him as he dressed and by the time they were exiting their bedchamber he was of half a mind to yank her back into it and cancel the ill-conceived endeavor before it even began no matter what she said. He resisted the urge, but only just.

The sun had yet to rise and his head was already pounding. Evelyn led the way to the training yard and he followed. Her magic was present in his senses, but it was a low and well-controlled hum as usual. Cullen was not looking forward to exposing himself to Hawke's magic. Even if it wasn't directed at him, being near her sparring with Evelyn, _and he refused to _not_ be near_, would be enough to have him feeling uneasy all morning. Much like her personality, Hawke's force magic was abrasive, domineering and utterly impossible to ignore.

_If this helps Evelyn in any way, keeps her safe, keeps her alive, sets her free, it's worth it. _

He sincerely hoped so.

They arrived at the appointed meeting place at the appointed time. The Warden was there, but her sister was not. It struck him as odd. Back in Kirkwall, Hawke would often come to the Gallows on business early in the morning, sometimes so early that Cullen, who slept even less back then, was the only officer on duty. It was unlike her to not be present on time especially after making a point of threatening to renege on her agreement if _they_ were late.

"My sister will be here shortly. She was feeling unwell, but she said she would be fine." Bethany Hawke was soft-spoken and though she had a weary, jaded look about her, the magic surrounding her was serene and not even a fraction as unsettling as her sister's.

Cullen was almost about to use Hawke's absence as an excuse to call off the whole misguided farce when Hawke and Fenris appeared. They walked arm in arm with Hawke leaning close to him. She looked a bit pale, but hardly ill. She let go of the elf and stretched in the sunlight now just creeping over the tops of the battlements. Fenris moved to stand next to him, while Evelyn joined Hawke in the main training ring. Bethany shared a few whispered words with her sister. Hawke made an impatient gesture. Both sisters rolled their eyes at one another and then Bethany also came to stand next to Cullen.

Everyone was silent for several heartbeats. Evelyn, properly bred noble that she was, politely started the conversation.

"Messere Hawke, should we each fetch a staff?" Evelyn pointed to a rack of neatly arranged, weakly enchanted staves that the novices used for practice.

"Staves are for pussies." Hawke threw back at her. "But if you need one, by all means…" She waved her hand at the practice weapons.

"Hawke." Cullen spoke her name with an undercurrent of threat vibrating in the single syllable.

"Ugh." Again, Hawke rolled her eyes. "Listen, _Templar_, I'm sure you're charging inside her pants every night, but that doesn't make her your charge. If you're scared she can't handle a little training then go back upstairs and let her spread for you if that's all she's good for."

"_Venhedis_ Hawke!" Fenris shouted but Cullen didn't hear it. The only thing he heard was his own outrage and the sound of his blade being drawn. He wasn't sure if he would have actually attacked Hawke. He would never know because Evelyn leapt forward impeding his warpath. She placed her hand on him where his sweaty palm gripped his sword.

"It's alright Cullen, really." She reassured him. He reluctantly sheathed his weapon while he glared daggers at a self-satisfied Hawke for having successfully provoked him. Evelyn turned back to the ring. "Please, Hawke. I'm ready. Shall we begin?"

Likely hoping to subvert any further inappropriate behavior from her sister, Bethany stepped forward and decided to play arbiter for their match. The Champion and The Inquisitor squared off. The Warden raised her hand and started counting down.

Cullen felt magic rise up in the air. That alone would have been enough to make him tense, but along with the energy from the mages came something unexpected. The lyrium carved into the skin of the elf standing next to him began to _sing_.

His head whipped around to Fenris who was watching the women calmly, reacting not at all to the flare of light in his skin. Cullen wondered if the elf heard it as he did or if his essence was so entwined with the faintly glowing poison that he failed to notice its song. He often knew when other Templars had just taken their draught. Even without the obvious physical signs of relief in their bodies, he could _feel_ it in them, smugly calling out to him making him both jealous and disgusted by turns. _This_ was a deafening cacophony in his ears compared to that.

"Three...two…"

Before the Warden reached 'one', Hawke's hand shot up and she released a wave of force powerful enough to knock Evelyn off her feet. She landed with a grunt and a thud, skidding backwards in the dirt.

Cullen roared. "Andraste's arse, Hawke! I swear to the Maker I will…"

_End. You._

But Evelyn was quick to interrupt him before he spoke the words. "Cullen, I'm fine!" She shouted with a note of exasperation.

Hawke just laughed. "You know, Templar, I feel like you're so much more fun now than you used to be. And that, by the way, was lesson number one. Never trust your enemies." The Champion walked over to Evelyn and helped her up. Evelyn dusted herself off. Hawke's voice was changed then, going from bright amusement to pensive darkness. "Don't trust your friends either, Inquisitor. That's lesson number two."

"And which are you, Champion?" Everyone present seemed to hold their breath waiting for an answer to Evelyn's astute question.

"We'll see, won't we?" Hawke replied.

The remainder of Cullen's morning was spent wincing and grinding his teeth at every blow exchanged between Hawke and Evelyn. The Inquisitor was perfectly competent using her magic but Cullen knew she was holding back, allowing herself only enough to get by. Hawke knew it too and took advantage, using every underhanded tactic in the book, and some she'd likely written herself, with no fear of reprisal. It took a tremendous amount of effort to stand by silently and not interfere, all while trying to ignore the seductive call of a larger quantity of lyrium right next to him than he imagined he'd taken in the entire duration of his service to the Order.

He closed his eyes against the glaring sun, its rays shooting needles straight into his head. Wiping away sweat from his brow, he started making a mental list of the things he needed to take care of once he was finished attending to the Inquisitor's training.

_Reports on his desk. Meeting with his captains. Troop rotations. Requisitions for... _

He opened his eyes again when Evelyn groaned in pain and Hawke barked out a chastisement.

"Are you even trying? It's no wonder Corypheus has been wiping the floor with you! If I were your dad, I'd side with him too!"

Cullen didn't need to come to Evelyn's defense that time. Quicker than Hawke was expecting, Evelyn pulled the Templar hilt from her belt, a spirit blade forming instantly upon it. She charged the Champion, who only narrowly avoided being run though by hastily conjuring a barrier.

"Touched a nerve, did I?" Hawke taunted. "Careful, Inquisitor, or you'll learn everything I have to teach you in one day and then what will I do for entertainment around here? Lesson number three. Anger makes you stronger."

Evelyn stepped back. Almost defiantly, she extinguished her blade and sheathed the hilt. "_Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children_."

Hawke's response to Evelyn's Chant was another attack. And thus they continued on.

"The girl is scared to use her powers. Her hesitation makes everything harder for her." The elf kept his eyes on the fight, but it was clear he was speaking to Cullen.

"She hasn't hesitated when it mattered. I just don't want the only time she feels comfortable in her own skin to be under threat of doom and damnation." Cullen's response was clipped and annoyed. He was in no mood for conversation, and the last thing he wanted to do was focus his attention on the elf and his lyrium.

"Every step taken in this world threatens doom and damnation. Those aren't the difficult moments. The difficult moments are the quiet ones. Commonplace things, everyday things. They should be easy, but they aren't. It took me...it took _us_ a long time to learn that and stop hesitating."

Cullen looked down at the elf. It was difficult to hear his words when the lyrium song was so loud but even with divided attention, there was something in Fenris' speech that resonated. Suddenly, he had questions. He wasn't sure exactly what he thought he would learn, or why this man he'd known only by association seemed to have the important answers he needed. Cullen opened his mouth to say...something, anything, Maker only knew what, when Evelyn and Hawke appeared in front of them.

"Commander, will you please escort the Warden to our council meeting? I nearly forgot about it. I'm just going to quickly freshen up, and then I'll be right there." Evelyn was flushed and perspiring, but she looked uninjured.

"Of course, Inquisitor." Cullen said shaking his head back into focus. His mind immediately flooded with all of the things they would need to discuss at war council. His desire to speak with Fenris was forgotten just as quickly as it appeared.

He was glad when Hawke and Fenris walked away, her magic no longer contributing to his strain and the smell of lyrium not so tangibly present. He was glad, but his head still throbbed and his hands still shook, and there was still so much work to do.

xxxx

Evelyn jogged up the steps to the main hall. It was far too late for anyone aside from the night patrols to still be awake. Or so she thought until she opened the large doors and saw Cole sitting on the stone floor in front of the hearth. He was huddled into ball, hugging his knees, the brim of his hat hiding his face. She stepped inside to the relative warmth, but the hall still held a drafty chill.

Watching Cole silently stare at the flickering flames, she wondered if he ever slept, or if he even needed sleep. Before it was revealed what she was, she avoided him as much as possible, not willing to trust her own thoughts around the thought-reading spirit. Nor had she been willing to trust a spirit in the first place. That being said, he'd never given her reason not to trust him and Cullen supported him and his place within the Inquisition, so she made an effort to accept him.

Evelyn opened her mouth to offer a polite hello-and-good-night but she stopped herself. Speaking with Cole, at this late hour, might not be the best thing for her psyche. It had been a long day, trying and confusing. She wasn't sure she wanted to make it any more confusing by chancing a conversation with Cole.

Sparring with Hawke forced her to use more of her magic than she was comfortable with outside of special circumstances, but the woman was ruthless. Solas had been a taskmaster, but he was always willing to accept Evelyn's boundaries. A few times, Evelyn actually thought Hawke would have actually drawn blood just to get a rise out of her. Skirting the edges of her ability to maintain calm restraint through the Champion's onslaught while also managing Cullen's protective outbursts had proved more tiring than she anticipated.

After that, the day had continued on its relentless path to bleed the Inquisition's leadership with a thousand little cuts. Grinding through their council meeting. Going through more missives, requests, demands and reports than she thought could possibly exist in the world and then planning expeditions and making decisions to address them all. The fact that as each hour passed more problems were created than they solved. By the time the sun had set, The Inquisitor, The Ambassador, The Spymaster and The Commander were all buried under so many jobs to do, Evelyn wondered if Corypheus' new tactic was to simply lay low until the Inquisition was crushed beneath the weight of endless questing and then he could take over the world unimpeded.

Cullen was tasked with assuming the bulk of the responsibility for extending the Inquisition's reach into the Western Approach in their effort to help the Wardens. Though they didn't know what they would find in the vast desert, they all felt certain it would require significant military force. The Warden crisis was their most urgent mission but Evelyn knew Cullen's drive was also still directed at hunting out and pushing back the Red Templars.

_Pushing back at her father..._

"_Fear and Cold. Hiding. Hiding. I cannot be who I was. I must not be who I am. Is it his fault or my own…_?" Cole's gentle and melodic voice carried her disjointed thoughts from her head out into the open air. He rocked back and forth, still gazing into the fire.

Evelyn forgot about her reluctance to talk with him, feeling the need to address his intrusion into her private troubles. They were alone in the hall and it made her bold despite also feeling disconcerted. "Would you say the same for yourself? Do _you_ know who you are? Do you _want_ to be _what_ you are?" After she spoke, however, she regretted how defensive she sounded when she knew he hadn't meant any intentional attack.

Cole looked up finally, his haunting eyes piercing through her. "I could say the same for him. _Fire in my blood. Wanting. Wanting. I won't be what I was. I can't be what I am. Why today? It's just another day. Every day. Every. Day_."

Though the words were strange, vague and jumbled, she knew those thoughts belonged to Cullen.

"He wouldn't want his thoughts shared either Cole."

"He doesn't want my help. He doesn't want yours either. I don't understand. Why hurt alone even when you're together?"

"Because people are complicated, Cole." It was a horrible answer, the kind of answer you give a child when you fear the truth will reveal too much.

"He's in his office. You should go to him."

The direct way Cole said that last statement, and the force with which he said it made Evelyn's stomach lurch. "I...I will. Right now. Good night, Cole."

She exited the hall and took the steps up to the battlements two at a time, making her way to Cullen's tower. Wind bit at her face as she approached the cracked open door where candlelight slipped through from inside.

She hovered in the cold for a moment when she heard him speaking. She listened closely, not wanting to interrupt if he was meeting with any of his men. It was only him, however, murmuring to himself in strained tones.

_"__Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide…"_

He didn't finish the verse and the obvious pain in the words spoken had Evelyn pushing open the door without thinking first and without being able to move entirely out of the way of something thrown straight at her. Luckily she was quick enough to only catch a few splinters in her hair from the box that crashed against the doorframe, hurled from Cullen's own hands.

"Maker's Breath, I'm so sorry, Evelyn! I...I didn't see you there…" His shocked apology drifted off as he rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. He looked as if he was emerging from a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.

Evelyn looked down at the broken box at her feet. The wood was mixed with shards of glass and the debris was wet and shimmering blue.

"You kept your philter?" She asked, wondering what kind of battle Cullen had just been silently fighting, alone in his office, his suffering affecting Cole's compassionate spirit all the way across Skyhold.

"The last one I had from Kirkwall." He confirmed. He sounded like he was working hard to form sentences. "I brought it with me even though I'd already made the decision to stop taking it. I don't know why." He still seemed distant as he spoke, lost in a memory. "I wanted nothing to do with that life any longer, and yet I kept it. Why…?"

She knew he wasn't really asking her. She kicked the broken pieces of his past outside onto the battlement, entered his office and shut the door.

He continued mumbling to himself, staring at nothing. "Knowing it was there made me angry but I never thought to get rid of it until now."

She walked over slowly to join him behind his desk. Tentatively she reached out for his hand. "Maybe Hawke is right and anger does make us stronger."

He squeezed her hand, but said nothing. Maybe he just didn't want to be talking anymore. He needed sleep more than he needed an introspective conversation but it seemed like a very long walk back to their shared quarters. Instead of forcing him to make the trek, she led him over to the ladder below his loft. Mechanically, he followed her and they both climbed up. His old bed was there and few of his things, as well as the unfortunate hole in the roof. Ivy and moonlight crept into the room along with a soft night breeze.

She helped him remove his armor and when he looked more comfortable, at least in body if not in soul, she kissed him. He relaxed a little more and leaned down into her. When he tried to pull her closer and deepen their contact, she gently backed away and touched a finger to his lips. Sex was easy for them, easy to drown in, get lost in, pushing away the pain in favor of shared solace and intimacy. Sex was easy. Sleep was not. An everyday thing, that others took for granted, was somehow so elusive to them that they struggled with it. Or more accurately struggled against it.

Evelyn was tired of struggling with everything and she wanted to help soothe Cullen's struggle. They climbed into bed and she arranged herself so that she cradled his head against her chest. Her fingers found their way into his hair, twirling around the soft curls and massaging his scalp. Eventually his breathing slowed, his muscles slackened and he fell asleep. Lulled by his quiet snores she drifted between the waking world and the Fade. Without really thinking about it, she let go. She let her concentration go. She let her magic go. Not using it, but not suppressing it, she just let it go and let it be and then she too fell asleep.

xxxx

Cullen watched as the skipping stone hopped across the dark surface of the lake once, twice and three times before it sunk to the bottom. He picked up another from the small pile at his feet. They used to send Rosalie to collect good rocks for them and she would run all along the shore picking them up and leaving them on the docks for him and Branson to skip. Mia lacked the patience to learn how to toss them properly, usually resorting to throwing them overhand as far as she could, trying to see if she could make it all the way to the opposite side. She never did.

He was dreaming. The lake was always a quiet place he could go when he was a child, but it was never this quiet. There were no crickets, no farm dogs barking in the distance, he couldn't even hear the water lapping against the pylons. The Fade always fell just short of truly re-creating happy memories. It was calm though and he felt more relaxed than usual in his dreams and certainly more relaxed that earlier in the evening.

He remembered vividly now as he skipped another stone. It had been a very long day filled with everyday annoyances and everyday problems. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing extreme. And yet, before he knew it, he was alone and staring at his philter, sweating and shaking and _wanting_ it so badly he nearly broke.

He tried to push away the image of the box crashing against the doorframe beside Evelyn's head. It was an impulsive thing to do but he suddenly felt like he couldn't abide the thing existing for one second longer. Fortunately, that feeling overtook the craving for just long enough to let him throw the damn thing away finally.

Focusing again on the lake, he reached down to pick up another rock. He paused when he noticed something strange sitting atop the pile of stones that hadn't been there a moment ago. A shiny coin glinted back at him. It was his lucky coin. Branson's actually. He picked it up, turned it around in his fingers and flipped it along his knuckles. He'd carried it every day since he left home all those years ago. Every day, good and bad. Looking back, he realized that though he always had it with him, it was only in the quiet times like these that he would hold it and think of home. The quiet times were always the hardest.

_Just like Fenris said._

It was never the action or the battles that were hard to overcome, he realized, it was the 'normal' days. The days that should be easy, that were easy for everyone else and yet weren't for him.

"Cullen?"

Nor for Evelyn. He turned around to see her approaching the docks. "This is a nice dream." She said, taking in the scene.

"We're near where I lived as a child. I enjoyed coming here. I still do, I suppose, if I'm dreaming about it." Cullen looked down at the coin in his hand and then at Evelyn. He was glad to have her here with him. 'Here' in every sense. In his dream, in his bed, in his moments of trial and in his everyday. They would learn to get through it all together. He could learn to be just Cullen again, and hopefully she could learn to be the real Evelyn and they could both just _be,_ even without weapons in their hands or lives to save.

"Evelyn?" When he said her name she looked up at him. He could feel her magic. It was quiet but it was present, like the ripples of the lake, she was letting it move freely, easily, but softly, gently. It seemed they both took a small step forward this night. And they were both sharing some much needed, uneventful sleep.

Today had been difficult. Tomorrow would be better.

When he didn't continue talking, she prompted him. "Yes love?" She asked with a small smile.

He smiled back, closing his hand around the coin. "When we wake up, there's something I want to give you."

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading and sticking with the story! I'm trying to keep to a twice a month update schedule. I could probably update this more frequently, but I always seem to get distracted and write other stuff in between writing these chapters. I just started writing an original story and I also can't seem to shake the need to write Cully with his pants down periodically. (If you're interested in those stories visit me on AO3) But really, there's no need to resist the urge to write smut right? ;p Love you guys! Thanks for reading! Also, writing is totally hard and I have no idea why I consider this a fun hobby. Writing this chapter felt like death by a thousand cuts today (just like Evelyn mentioned), but I'm clearly a masochist, so onward to the Western Approach! :)_


	31. Defiance and Damnation

_A/N: This chapter is entirely self-indulgent fluff. Much like this whole story. Who needs plot advancement? ;) Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**_Chapter 31: Defiance and Damnation_**

Cullen woke rested. He also woke with a leg cramp and a crick in his neck from sleeping so soundly in an old, too-small bed with Evelyn wrapped around his body. It was the most wonderful pain he'd ever woken up to but he had to admit to himself that the Inquisitor's suite at the top of the keep was much more comfortable now that he'd gotten used to it. Evelyn stirred atop him and shivered at the chill air in the room. He held her tighter and pulled the thin blanket he never used over her.

He was suddenly possessed of a wicked need to indulge. Yesterday had tested his frayed reserves of perseverance and composure. He should not have pushed himself so far, knowing very well it was the small things that could end a man. Evelyn's presence helped him refocus and find a calm that somehow extended into his dreams. As each day together with her passed he felt more..._normal_. He stared up at the hole in the roof and watched the leaves of ivy sway and tremble with the mountain wind. That was no longer him. He no longer felt like a broken bough being tossed about on the breeze. He had a home, roots, a place and a life in Evelyn's arms.

The thought was a happy one, but somehow, his well-worn and comfortable mantle of ill-temper and anger did not ebb with this new flow of well-being. The enemies they faced, the trials they'd yet to encounter, the very existence of turmoil in the world was now not only an affront to his preference for order and peace but an affront to the future he wanted to build with Evelyn right now, not at some undetermined time after all the problems of Thedas were solved. He had lost so much in this life already, had so much taken away, he was suddenly incensed by the fact that there were forces who dared oppose the small seed of happiness he was trying to cultivate.

Thus his present need. In defiance of those who had sought to break him in the past and those who actively toiled to break them now, he _needed_ to have her. Because she was here. Because he could. Because he wanted to. Because the day could wait for them, for him, and _for once in his fucking life_ he would allow himself time for himself.

With determination, he rolled over and pinned a still sleepy Evelyn beneath him. She batted her dark eyelashes, blinking the Fade away, and offered him a groggy smile. A passion and intensity sparked inside him, emotions usually sequestered in dark nights by the light of stars or candles. He kissed her to greet the morning. With a dry throat and parched lips, stiff muscles and rays of dawn sun shining down on them, he smothered her with his mouth, drinking of her and trying to sate his need to claim their future now. Her moan was languid and muffled, half in pleasure, half in drowsy protest but he felt her smile against his lips nonetheless accepting his assault as it took on a pointed frenzy.

What clothes they had fallen into bed wearing the previous night were tugged and kicked and pulled off, mostly by Cullen, with Evelyn being carried along in the wake of his actions and the waves of his desire. He ran his hands over every inch of her, reveling in the way goosebumps rose up under his touch, glorying in how she arched, reached, turned and opened, unconsciously accommodating his roaming.

It was only another handful of moments, a smell of her hair, a taste of her skin and he was entering her, mindless and primal. He was spurred on harder and faster by each of her staccato panting breaths. She was soothingly cool all along the length of his body but for the sweetness of her tight heat welcoming his every thrust. He let out a strange sound, half groan, half laughter, thrilled by his own abandon.

When she started clutching at his shoulders and moaning into his mouth he knew she was close. Slowing down and pulling back, he drew a soft mumbled plea out of her.

"_Cullen, don't stop_…"

He shouldn't have. He should have finished. He should have finished before they heard the creak of his heavy office door opening. The sound of footsteps and voices carried upstairs into the loft and made Evelyn's eyes go wide. She jerked her hips in surprise, serving only to drive him deeper inside her. A shocked gasp escaped her and she squirmed beneath him ineffectually. Though not meant to be seductive, her struggle to move while he was still joined with her made him burn for release.

He pressed his body down forcing her to sink further into the mattress. She opened her mouth, but he didn't wait to hear her embarrassed scolding, covering her pouty lips with his hand.

"Shhh." He blew teasing air across the sensitive shell of her ear and whispered into it. "Whoever it is they can wait. You're so close, love, aren't you?"

Her eyes squeezed shut in shame even as her thighs tightened around his waist and her fingers slid down his back to dig into his backside and urge him on.

That was all he needed to continue, furious and fervent. The complaints of the old bed bearing the strain of his exertions wasn't quiet, _but damned if he cared_. The feeling of Evelyn's hot breath against his hand still silencing her wanton cries as he took her to her peak made him wild and possessive. He started growling things in her ear, _shocking things_, that had she not been flushed with her mounting arousal, she would be blushing red hot at his filthy words.

She came hard and fell apart in his hands, tossing her head and thrusting her pelvis up into him, trying not to add her voice to the racket they were making. The mere thought that her muffled pleasure might be heard by whoever was in his office was enough to have him spilling himself inside her.

When he collapsed at her side, breathless, in his post coital haze he hope maybe they could just go back to sleep and whoever was downstairs would eventually go away and whatever the day held for them could not only wait until they finished making love, but wait until the sun set and then rose again tomorrow. Unfortunately, instead of a sleepy Evelyn curling into the nook of his arms, an outraged Evelyn swatted him on his shoulder and leveled him a scathing glare...before she kissed him...and then hit him again.

"You're _horrible_." She whispered harshly as she scrambled out of bed and gathered her haphazardly discarded clothes. "What in the world possessed you to..._do that_?"

Cullen scratched his head then rubbed at the unshaven stubble along his jaw, his mind still slow and sluggish from his stolen, yet eminently satisfying, morning interlude. "I'm not sure, exactly. I...um...won't do it again…?" He hazarded a guess at what he was supposed to say. He didn't necessarily _want_ to apologize, but it was entirely possible that he should, lest he find himself sleeping in this bed alone at the end of the day.

Evelyn huffed and threw his clothes at him. "Well, I didn't say _that_."

xxxx

She let Cullen go down first. For half a second she entertained the idea that she could just hide in the loft with her humiliation until his office cleared out and she could slip away with no one noticing. She fantasized that perhaps whoever had heard them carrying on would forget about it by day's end. Evelyn knew very well, however, that Cullen's office wouldn't be empty again until much later that night, with the constant demands on his time. She thought it best to take her medicine, hold her head high, and face the fact that she'd just enjoyed some early morning exhibitionism...after Cullen faced it first.

A few moments after Cullen descended, Evelyn crept down the ladder. When she planted her feet at the bottom and turned to face the room, she was met with several fold more awkwardness than even she had envisioned. Sending Cullen down first had been the _wrong_ thing to do. Not that she would have fared better. Cullen stood, mouth agape and face bright red, suffering the silent stares of Ser Rylen..._and his sister_. Rylen was biting a hole in his bottom lip trying to keep from smiling and Mia just glared with her lips slightly curled in disgust.

Rylen coughed loudly. It was an obvious ploy to conceal an outburst of laughter. When he finished the dramatic throat clearing, he saluted. "Good morning, Commander." He nodded his head at Evelyn as well. "Your Worship. If you've the time now, Ser, I've several pressing issues…"

Mia cut him off and threw a pointed barb at Cullen. "No one taught you how to lock a door?"

"No one taught you how to knock on one?" Came Cullen's somewhat childish and entirely defensive reply.

Rylen piped up, still unable to hide the amusement in his voice. "Entirely my fault, Ser. I supposed I just walked in on habit. Won't happen again. My apologies to you and the Inquisitor."

Evelyn wanted to die. Instead she made an attempt to squeak out a polite acceptance of Rylen's apology. She was spared having to give an actual response when Mia rounded on Rylen.

"You Templars accustomed to walking in on each other, are you?" She perched a hand on her hip, the fiery look in her eyes daring Cullen's second-in-command to bite back.

Rylen obliged her with a disarming toothy grin and a sly wink. "Not usually, lass, but the skills of 'we Templars' are well known to extend beyond the battlefield so accidental intrusions are bound to happen sometimes."

Cullen looked like he wanted to die. Instead, he shouted. "What do you _want_, Rylen? It's barely dawn."

"Sorry Ser, right, just wanted to go over plans for the expansion west. The scouts are reporting unsafe conditions on the roads, such as they are, due to the aggressive wildlife. Our engineers won't be able to access the forward camps unless the critters are cleared."

"I've organized a unit of hunters to clear the worst of it." Mia joined in, the previously uncomfortable confrontation with her brother now forgotten in the face of business. There was something strange, however, that lingered in the sideways glance she gave Rylen. Something resembling _curiosity_.

The Inquisitor listened intently as the men and Mia went over plans and maps and strategy. When the meeting concluded, Evelyn took note of how Rylen held open the door for Mia to exit and how Mia walked through it with a sway to her hips that she was sure was meant for the Knight-Captain.

When she and Cullen were alone again, he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "There's always something more, isn't there?" He sounded tired, but not as bone-weary as he did yesterday.

"Wishing we were somewhere else?" She asked ruefully. The truth was, she wished they were back upstairs in the small uncomfortable bed, comfortably wrapped in each other's arms.

He stopped to consider her words. A slow wave of emotion washed over his face. Realization? Acceptance? Resignation? Evelyn wasn't sure until he spoke again.

"No. I don't. We are where we should be for now. But eventually, hopefully soon, we're going to be by that lake in Honnleath and it won't be a dream. It will be real and lasting." He came to stand in front of her and idly caressed her cheek. His barest touch made warmth spread through her. "Here. Take this."

From his pocket he produced a worn Fereldan coin. Evelyn took the coin and, feeling playful, remarked cheekily, "If this is for last night, I think I'm offended."

Cullen disapproved. He frowned but he didn't take the coin back. "It's impossible to tell which one of those misfits you call friends out there is the bad influence responsible for that comment. It's probably all of them. The coin is for luck. I want you to have it. Branson gave it to me when I left home to join the Templars. I wouldn't have considered myself lucky in the past, but I see now that I always was."

"If it has brought you luck, then I want you to keep it." She shoved the coin back into his hands with a sudden sense of urgency. She had always trusted her faith to see her through, but somehow, the thought of Cullen discarding his 'luck' and simply giving it over to her made her heartbeat quicken, however silly and unreasonable it was.

He chuckled at her reaction and slipped the coin into her pocket, stroking her hip as he did so. "Just take it as a token then, to remember our dream by the lake, and we'll make our own luck to get us there soon."

xxxx

Cullen made his evening rounds earlier than usual, eager to meet Evelyn for a late dinner and hopefully settle into a peaceful night in bed. He stopped to check in with each of the patrols on the battlements and at the main gates before he worked his way back to the keep. He visited his brother's quarters briefly to see his nephew. Mia was there visiting also and the two of them made a point to avoid eye contact with each other. They both bid Branson and his family good night at the same time and left together.

Cullen also avoided eye contact with Rylen, who had apparently come to meet Mia. Rylen tried to say something before Mia pushed him down the corridor and Cullen walked away in the opposite direction.

While he recited the Chant softly to himself, trying to scour any and all thoughts pertaining to this morning, Rylen and his sister from his head, he stumbled upon another couple in the garden.

Hawke and Fenris were sitting on a bench. Hawke had her legs drawn up and draped across the elf's lap while he casually ran his hand along them. Cullen stopped to consider how best to go around and avoid passing them. He was about to back track when a flash of light caught his eye.

The elf's lyrium was glowing. The lines of energy in his skin flared bright blue against the subdued palette of evening colors all around them. Morbid curiosity took hold of Cullen and without giving it too much thought he skirted around in the shadows to get a better view of the pair. They were talking, looking at one another, gesturing occasionally in their conversation and it was when Fenris threw his head back in laughter at something Hawke said that he noticed it.

One of Hawke's hands was rubbing the back of her lover's neck. With each massaging movement and each tender kneed of his muscles, the light of his lyrium pulsed with a warming radiance. As his laughter died down, he twisted and craned his neck and shoulders like a cat seeming to enjoy her adoring attentions.

Cullen wondered how Hawke's magic imbued touch could possible feel _good _to Fenris when it came in contact with his lyrium. He'd read the damned book, heard enough stories both in Kirkwall and after, to know that the blood magic the elf had been subjected too was nothing short of torture and yet there he sat letting a mage, the most indelicate and contrary mage to ever walk Thedas in fact, send ripples of magic through the lyrium carved into his skin.

_It's no less than you've allowed Evelyn to do to you, is it?_

Cocooned in their own little world, the pair on the bench seemed to exist only for each other. Though beaten and battered and many times broken on the outside, inside their shared space they were whole. Complete.

Cullen knew there were many people, most of them mages, who saw him as he saw Hawke. Embittered, angry, dangerous even. But not Evelyn. Coin or not, he was lucky. As were Hawke and Fenris, though he imagined, much like he had many times, they might have cause to contest that assertion.

He let the lovers be and took a roundabout way back to Evelyn and their room. The comfortable one. They would be traveling west soon and he wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, enjoying their good luck before the doom and damnation Fenris seemed to think threatened every step they took caught up with them.


	32. Luck and Superstition

**_Chapter 32: Luck and Superstition _**

The Inquisition's Commander was back in his element. Under a blue sky, _or even a grey sky, he didn't particularly care_, out in the field and not caged inside a fortress, _or a Tower,_ he was a different man. They would arrive at Adamant in a matter of days. Weeks of battle plans, training and preparation, small skirmishes in the desert with minor rival forces, picking off Venatori in the wilderness of Orlais, all these things merely served to whet his appetite for a real confrontation. If he had to return yet again to this Maker-damned country, at least it was with an army at his back, and a fight on the horizon.

Facing the Grey Wardens from their fortified position was daunting but the Inquisition's leadership had all agreed a siege was the best course of action. And he was glad. Despite having saved a good number of his brothers at Therinfal from a fate of slavery to the enemy, Cullen regretted having let the situation fester for so long before intervening. He could have saved so many more good men and women. The Wardens were too important to Thedas to let suffer the same fate. It was urgent that the corruption within their ranks be snuffed out with decisive force. Wardens had helped him once. He would repay that debt if he could.

Corrupted Templars. Corrupted Wardens. Red Lyrium and blood magic. When he was in the thick of things in Kirkwall, at his lowest and most despondent, when the lyrium rang in his ears and sang in his blood, he would have told anyone who asked him that _this_ was what the world would inevitably fall to someday. That _this_ was why things had to change. The change he envisioned back then, however, clouded by his anger and pain, was no longer the change he was fighting for. The Inquisition promised something better. They were working for a lasting peace, beyond Corypheus, beyond the petty politics of fickle nations and false clerics. What they were building was something he could not have conceived of in his youth, before his time with Evelyn.

Cullen set down the parchment he'd been reading and looked out across the wasteland. The desert heat was brutal at midday and he, along with many of the other soldiers, had abandoned his armor while they camped. It was even too hot inside his tent so he'd relocated to a canopied area he'd set up in the relative shade of a crumbling ancient wall. He stood in front of a makeshift war table, studying his maps again. He may not be in Skyhold, but reports from all over Thedas were still finding him on the march.

Leliana was being relentlessly evasive about dealings they needed to have with the Ferelden Crown upon his and the Inquisitor's return. Whatever business she wanted them to conduct with King Alistair reeked of politicking and Cullen knew the Spymaster was deliberately not revealing something critical about it that would cause him to argue.

Josephine sent petition after petition requesting troop relocation to help Prince Vale in Starkhaven defend against Red Templar forces clawing at his borders from Ostwick. Bann Trevelyan had apparently pushed outward from the Vimmark Mountains and his men were now stampeding unchecked across the Marches. Cullen had even received a personal letter from Aveline Hendyr in Kirkwall also requesting Inquisition aid if it could be spared. Aveline was not one to make frivolous requests, so the situation in the Free Marches must be approaching dire.

Cullen wiped sweat away from his brow with the back of his hand and thought about the Gallows in Kirkwall, where he'd spent so many years. It was abandoned now, most of Kirkwall's Templars having fortunately followed him to join the Inquisition. There were some, however, that he'd either refused, or they'd refused him and he knew they must have sought sanctuary with the Bann and his army, such sanctuary as it was, tainted red.

As soon as the situation with the Warden's was in hand, he would devote all of his attention to crushing Evelyn's father. Even without his abuses of the Templar Order, even without throwing his lot in with the enemy, his offenses against his own daughter were more than enough to justify the special place of hatred Cullen had reserved for him in his thoughts.

Evelyn never volunteered discussion about her father. When the topic was brought up at a council meeting she would nod and remain silent. When asked a question, usually by Leliana as none of the rest of them were forward enough to do so, she would reply succinctly, doing an excellent job of hiding whatever emotion she felt on the subject.

But Cullen knew what emotions lingered inside her. Shame, regret, anger. He would get justice for them all and before this war was done he would see her smile without a shadow of pain lurking behind it.

Despite that pain she sheltered inside, he felt she was increasingly sharing in his recent positive attitude. Being on the road was as good for her as it was for him. There was always work to be done and things to keep the Inquisitor busy, distracting her from any unproductive ruminating.

She trained almost daily with Hawke and though Cullen decided to actively avoid watching them, Evelyn consistently reported that she found the sessions valuable. He was glad she felt that way, or else the bruises he occasionally found on her after a particularly rigorous bout might have spurred him into murderous rage by now. Evelyn even commented that she was appreciative he resisted the urge to hover over her like a mother hen and noted that Hawke was not afforded the same courtesy from Fenris who never seemed to be more than two steps from her at all times. Cullen didn't mention that not wanting to be around the elf and his lyrium was part of what motivated him to steer clear of Evelyn's lessons. That being said, there were days lately when he felt so good that lyrium almost seemed like a part of his past and not a present struggle. He went long hours sometimes when he hardly thought about the symptoms of his abstinence.

And thus they both thrived on work and duty. But the two of them had a high tolerance for exertion. So, when the work wasn't enough to burn out their energies, they found other ways when they were alone.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Cullen's mouth. His new invigorated sense of purpose had also translated quite well into their bed. They didn't think so much anymore about how to make love, they just did it. Every night. Sometimes twice.

Simply thinking of her made him desirous of her presence, so when she appeared in the distance walking towards him, her far-off form wavering seductively in the heat, he left his shade to meet her.

"Your skin is going to burn in this sun without a shirt on." Scolding him, she grabbed his arm and led him back under the canopy over the mobile war table. Then she added under her breath, "And I'm running out of errands to occupy Dorian. I won't be held responsible if he starts loitering in your general vicinity to admire the view."

Cullen leaned down and kissed her cheek, whispering in her ear as he brushed past it. "Are you jealous?" It wasn't a serious question, but it was an amusing one to consider, especially when her response was to blush and swat him away.

"Ser Rylen asked me to speak with you." The serious Inquisitor was back quickly so he took her lead and settled into his role as her Commander again. They would put aside their titles later on that evening, but for now, to work.

"Is it about the supply lines? Mia's hunters have assured that the road ahead has been cleared of the varghest packs."

"No, it's about what happens when we arrive at Adamant."

She was being intentionally vague and clearly trying to find a polite way to discuss something difficult. He eyed her suspiciously and called her out. "Inquisitor, is there a reason _you're _speaking with me rather than Rylen coming to me himself?"

Her dark eyes fell to the sand at their feet. She toed a pebble with the tip of her boot nervously. "Actually, _I_ asked _him_ to speak with you about this but he said it needed to come from_ 'The Inquisitor'_ because he agreed with me but if he was in your position he wouldn't and he wouldn't listen to anyone else if it were him and if he were honest he might not listen to me either if he were you…"

"Evelyn, you're rambling."

"You will obviously need to be commanding the field at Adamant. Your presence will be important overseeing everything, not bogged down with hand-to-hand fighting." The Inquisitor stood up straight now and looked him in the eyes. "I can be more useful embedded in a smaller unit and besides that, when we breach the gates, I should be with the Hawkes to confront the Warden-Commander."

When he opened his mouth she held up her hand to stop him. He politely let her finish. He was a gentleman, for the most part, and she was their leader, even if he had no intentions of allowing anything she was suggesting.

As if she read his thoughts, she set her jaw and pursed her lips, bracing herself for an argument. It was generally accepted that the Inquisitor had a stubborn streak, but Cullen had yet to truly be subjected to it. People usually came to him to get her to change her mind and he was always able to coax her without trying very hard.

"I can't be kept away from the fighting, which I know you would try to do, and though I know you would never jeopardize our people, neither can you be expected to divert any of your attention away from the larger purpose just to see me safe. We each must be where we are needed. Allow me this and we will have no quarrel."

Her words seemed such a departure from her usual attachment to him in all things and all situations, _which he was always perfectly happy to accommodate_, that he felt the need to blame this new stance on the most likely culprit.

"Is this Hawke's influence?" He asked disgustedly. "It should go without saying that her choices are not necessarily to be emulated. The fact that she marches headlong into conflict like a lone wolf with her loved ones staggering after her in the wake of her bad decisions should not be how _we_ choose to fight."

"I will admit that Hawke has been stressing the need to be more independent as a mage without leaning on the support of others, but I'm not so foolish to think that I could or should conduct myself like her." Evelyn looked hurt and Cullen immediately regretted his accusation, if not the intention behind it. Her hurt turned into a vague sadness laced with worry. "You can't hold my hand forever Cullen. Solas used to say the same things to me."

It was the first time she'd mentioned her training with Solas since Cullen very inappropriately, _and very gratifyingly_, punched him the face over his invasion of Evelyn's dreams. He crossed his arms and took a moment to consider things before he spoke out of turn again.

Rylen was, of course, correct on all counts. He did _not_ agree with Evelyn, had _not_ planned on letting her out of his sight and had _no_ intentions of listening to her in this regard. But he also did _not_ want to quarrel. He would have to phrase his next statement carefully, as things were coming closer to an argument than he would like.

"Your Worship," he started formally, "I lead my men from the front line, not from behind, and part of my job is seeing you safe." He stepped closer to her and touched her cheek feeling the sweat on her soft skin under his thumb. "That my personal desires are fulfilled simultaneously with fulfilling my duty as Commander is a blessing I thank the Maker for daily."

Evelyn closed her eyes, a conflicted frown contorting her face. "Cullen, my motivations for bringing this up aren't entirely directed towards my own personal growth. As much as I agree that I need to find a way to be more independent as a mage, I also can't bear the thought of being a mage, being me, being anything or existing at all without you. Do you think I want to see you in the thick of the fighting? What happens if you're hurt protecting me, _again_? It was a miracle you lived after we fled Haven..." She stopped abruptly, and shook the memory of their fall and his subsequent brush with death from her head. "I need _you_ to be safe too."

She said nothing for a long while, but Cullen could see the stress behind her eyes and hear the turmoil in her silence. Eventually, the lines of stubbornness reformed on her face and she continued.

"Let's take a small step first. I didn't think I would convince you on the first go of it anyway." She then pulled the coin he'd given her out of her pocket. "I know its blasphemy, but I can't stop thinking about how you were able to hold onto your brother's coin all those years in Ferelden and Kirkwall. I'm honored that you entrusted it to me, but will you please take it back and carry it with you for now? At least until we've returned to Skyhold? You came so far with it in your possession, and I don't care if its superstitious nonsense, I want you to take it back, alright?"

She pressed the coin into his palm and he squeezed his fist around it reflexively. Whether it was merely superstition or actual blasphemy to place faith in an object then he was guilty of the same. He was about to give the coin back to Evelyn and insist that she continue to carry it herself when a voice like the scratching of demons against the Veil rent the air.

"Back off Templar! Time for the Inquisitor's daily dose of proper magic." Hawke appeared unexpectedly and with her presence, the taste of bile rose up into Cullen's mouth. "At least I'm _trying_ to teach her proper magic. She's addicted to that stubby little sword of yours and insists on doing all the heavy lifting with that stupid thing instead of real spells with actual bollocks."

"Hawke, you can take your jokes about _my sword_ and shove them right up your…"

"I'll be right there!" Evelyn exclaimed loudly enough to drown out Cullen's pointed invective. "We'll talk more later, I promise." She reassured him and snuck a peck on his cheek. "I love you." She added in a soft but meaningful whisper.

"Here, wait, at least hold onto this for your training so I know you'll have some extra luck against _that woman_." He gave Evelyn back the good luck charm and gave Hawke a nasty sideways glance. When Hawke cracked her knuckles and licked her lips, Evelyn eagerly pocketed the coin.

Their brief conversation hadn't gone so far as to darken Cullen's mood, but the blistering heat of the desert might have just gotten a bit more oppressive, and his resolve to protect _his_ Evelyn, might also have taken a small step in that direction.

What the Maker gives, he can take away. Cullen knew this all too well and yet he found that he would willingly quarrel with the Maker himself if He dared take her away from him. He tried to ignore the words of the Chant that came uninvited into this thoughts.

_Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world._

xxxx

Evelyn returned to the tent she shared with Cullen later that evening with a sore back and singed eyebrows. All things considered, she felt she'd been lucky. Cullen's coin was nestled in her hand and she smiled at its presence there. Hawke had been especially enthusiastic earlier in her efforts to teach Evelyn the finer points of bringing down an opponent who knew how to evade or resist magical attacks. Fenris insisted on stepping in to assist when it came to demonstrating something potentially dangerous. He allowed both Hawke and Evelyn to square up their magic against him. Evelyn was grateful for not having to suffer being Hawke's sole target, which was reason enough to believe in the coin's ability to bestow luck upon its possessor.

It was also an amazing thing watching the elf and the Champion spar together. There was a practiced fluidity to their motions and an obvious trust in the give and take of their exchange. They seemed free with one another and they made everything look _easy_. But it wasn't just the fighting that looked easy in their capable hands, they made _love_ look easy.

Hawke's magic wasn't something inserted between them, it was a part of them, both of them. Seeing it made her hopeful for the day when she and Cullen would be the same way. Before, the best she hoped for was to have her magic forgotten and ignored, now she saw a path where she might hold it in her heart next to Cullen.

That was part of her motivation to avoid leaning on him in the upcoming battle. Solas had been right all along. She felt she would be freer to love him if she tried to love herself a little more and standing on her own two feet without her Templar's protective presence was a step she needed to take.

When she ducked into the tent, Cullen must have noticed the flush of determination in her face.

"You look well." He said, glancing up from sharpening one of his blades. "The coin must have worked. See? I was right. You need it. You should keep it."

Her Templar was far from subtle. She undressed and crawled into their bedroll. He set down his sword and whetstone and joined her. Fitting herself snugly under his arm she placed the coin on his chest. "I was thinking the _exact_ opposite."

"Are we arguing about the coin or about the roles of the Inquisitor and the Commander in the upcoming battle?"

Evelyn pushed herself up to look down at him. "We're not arguing. I simply want you to be safe and do what is best for our people while allowing me to work on issues that will eventually help us."

"What is best for our people is to see me fighting alongside them and to see you safe. And I fail to see how supporting and protecting you as both our leader and someone I care about deeply prevents you from learning to be a free mage. Remember, I was the one who suggested you train with Hawke the in first place, knowing full well the lessons she had to teach. I'm not trying to be stubborn, Evelyn and I'm not trying to remove you from the action that you feel will make you stronger. I only want you to accept that _you_ are not a sacrificial lamb meant to be thrown into the fray to spare others' risk nor do you _need_ to do that to prove anything to anyone or to yourself."

He picked up the coin and absently turned it over and around in his fingers. She wondered how many times in his life he'd fished the thing out of his pockets and held it, thinking, worrying, wondering. When he continued his speech, she sensed his words had behind them a great deal of contemplation.

"We are as much fighting for _us_ as we are fighting for Thedas. What good is victory if we can't enjoy it? I've had enough of serving a greater good only to have my sacrifices trampled on and forgotten. The Templar Order deserved better than that. The Warden's deserved better than that. Every mage who suffered under the fist of the Chantry deserved better than that. _We_ deserve better than that. But the world is what it is, and I just think that we don't need to tempt fate and help it along in trying to fuck us over by _not_ actively protecting each other against whatever the Maker throws at us."

She could dispute nothing he said and suddenly everything seemed a bit less clear. Her determination to make a statement of independence. Her determination to see him safe at the potential cost of her own safety. Were these things going to serve the purpose they were meant to? There were so many interpretations to the same situations. Was it the right thing to do to build up her sense of self? Or what is the right thing to do to lean on their bond to weather the storm and grow together? Or was the answer something in between?

He pulled her down to lay in his embrace again, her head now fogged with both confusion and fatigue.

"I suppose we could take turns holding the coin." She honestly couldn't decide if she meant that statement as a joke or a serious battle plan.

His chest shook with laughter beneath her head, suggesting he had taken it as a joke, but the tone of his voice when he answered her was far from lighthearted. "Fair enough, love."

The following morning, Cullen was lacing up his boots when Evelyn stirred awake.

"I'm going to inspect the calibration on the trebuchets this morning. I probably won't see you until evening."

"Again?" She rubbed her eyes and then reached under her pillow for the coin, tossing it at him. He caught it and simultaneously rolled his eyes at her. "For as many times as you've calibrated those things you obviously could use the help."

"You were never this cheeky before spending time with Hawke." He grumbled and shook his head. "More of her horrible influence. We move on tomorrow, we fight, we win, we go home and, Maker willing, The Champion of Kirkwall will never darken our doorstep again."

"Speaking of, I promised Varric I would play cards with him and Hawke tonight so may I have the coin back when you finish your calibrations to help improve my odds?"

"I should keep it just so you lose and learn your lesson. Do you know how many Templars in Kirkwall she cheated out of their earnings on their nights off? One poor fool rode the ferry back to the Gallows in possession of nothing but his smalls and his sword."

"The one in his pants or…?"

Cullen stalked out of the tent to the sound of Evelyn's giggles. She noted he took the coin with him. Later that afternoon, however, when she returned to the tent to freshen up, _and pray_, before her game with Hawke and Varric, she found that Cullen had left her something. A deck of cards sat next to her things, atop which sat the coin.

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_A/N: yeah...so...so much for updating twice a month :( March sucked ass and I hope to do better this month. April has to be better right? Because Spring and all that? I already started on the next chapter and I swear to the maker shit actually happens in it! Thank you for reading! It really makes my day when I see people still picking up this story or discovering it! 3_


	33. Nothing and Everything

**_Chapter 33: Nothing and Everything_**

The cacophony was deafening, and maddening, and _brilliant_. The ground shook beneath Cullen's feet when the battering ram collided with the gates one final time before fulfilling its purpose and breaking through into Adamant. He could taste the smoke in the air and see flakes of black ash floating in space from the destruction his war machines had wrought on the walls of the Grey Warden fortress. Fires still burned all around them, their crackling sounds competing with the distinctive shouts of exaltation and agony that could only be found in battle.

The Commander added to the din by ordering his soldiers to clear away the splinters of debris that was once the massive door of the stronghold. His axe men hacked away at the thing until they could see into the main courtyard. Wardens were taking cover everywhere, pulling back and readying themselves for the next round of combat. Cullen didn't like fighting them, but they'd left him no choice. All he could do was make this as swift and decisive as possible and hope they could minimize the loss of life on both sides.

When the way was clear enough, he looked over his shoulder at the Inquisitor who was standing behind him with her small tactical unit comprised of the Hawke sisters, and Fenris. He brandished their coin, which was in his possession for the breaching of the gates, and tossed it to Evelyn.

"After you Inquisitor." He said.

Pocketing the coin she winked at him and replied, "Thank you Commander" before she stepped through the giant ragged hole into Adamant, her spirit blade luminescent in her hand.

They had come to a ridiculous sort of compromise. Cullen drew his own blade and followed her, his men ready for a fight at his heels. Their lucky coin had been passed back and forth between the two of them over the past few days more times than he could count and it was doing its job tenfold. The trebuchets were calibrated to perfection, Evelyn won a hand of cards against Hawke and Varric, and no less than a dozen other small victories were achieved at the hands of the one who held the worn old coin. The night sky was cloudless and perfect for battle. Evelyn's magic sang out clear, confident, and bold. Cullen's pride in her swelled in his chest.

"Oi! Move your big fat head!"

He ducked immediately at Sera's only warning before a volley of arrows streaked past him and found targets in the first wave of enemies to come at them. There were no Warden casualties though. The victims of the archer strike were all demons.

Cullen stepped through a puddle of ichor, a disgusted snarl on his face, looking for his own target to lay into. Evelyn's group had already disappeared ahead away from the main fighting, moving fast in search of the Warden-Commander. He had to make sure she was able to slip through so she could secure Clarel's surrender. They had planned for the Commander to seek out the heaviest areas of resistance and occupy them so the Inquisitor could make better time through the keep and not get bogged down by melee after melee. He, on the other hand, _couldn't fucking wait _to melee.

The Inquisition teams scaling the walls outside needed help from within if they were going to pinch the enemy into capitulation. He ordered Rylen's unit to the east battlements and Barris' unit to the west to accomplish that task while he led his unit forward.

"I smell some good fighting over here, Boss!" The Iron Bull hefted his battle-axe off his broad shoulders and charged up a flight of stairs with his Chargers. Not wanting to let Bull claim the best of the conquests, Cullen ran after him tossing aside a few petty demons with his shield who had the audacity to try and block his path. He couldn't even be bothered to kill them.

The Commander wasn't disappointed when he reached the top of the steps. He arrived at the next level just in time to see Bull being swatted away like a fly by a Pride demon. Enraged at the indignity of it, Bull jumped up and with an agile swing of his axe he was able to catch the demon in the shoulder from behind. The weapon dug deep into Pride's shoulder and Bull used all his weight to bear down and tear into the thing's flesh rending open a massive wound. Cullen took advantage of Bull's attack and ran right up between the beast's legs. He slashed twice with his sword, right, then left, cutting the vital tendons keeping it upright.

Clutching at its damaged shoulder and letting out an unholy wail, the demon fell to its knees but it was not to be undone just yet. Foul magic crackled around it and lightning jumped from its body, striking out in all directions. Bull and Cullen were forced to take cover. The demon bought itself precious time to regenerate. When the lighting cleared, the thing stood tall and roared as if they'd never attacked it.

As an exclamation point to the demon's defiance, a rift opened up above their heads, spewing forth even more Fade denizens. Cullen was about to call for reinforcements but a better solution arrived before he could give the order.

Evelyn and her group emerged from an arcade up ahead. She sliced through a rage demon effortlessly with her weapon and then planted herself in a wide stance on the flagstones. She tore the black glove she always wore off of her marked hand and raised it high in the air linking herself to the magic of the rift with explosive force. All the demons enclosed in the radius of her power were cut down in a blaze of green, screaming their last as they were sucked out of reality. The rift collapsed into itself right after them.

There was a sudden void of silence before the shouts and clamor of fights being waged nearby crept back into Cullen's senses. Blinking away the blinding light of the rift closing he saw Evelyn striding towards him, sheathing her now empty Templar hilt.

"I can't let you go anywhere without this, can I?" She asked and held out the coin to him, smiling cheekily.

Cullen snatched it out of her hand and pocketed it. "_I'm_ supposed to be the one clearing the way for _you_."

"Right you are Commander." She acquiesced. "Bethany knows of a back staircase through the arcade there. We're going to hurry to the upper levels now and look for Clarel. We shouldn't meet much resistance if we stick to the smaller passageways, as long as you keep engaging their main forces out here in the open."

She grabbed him tightly then with her marked hand. He could feel both her magic and the magic of the mark tingle up his arm. He couldn't say if it was the intensity in her dark eyes as she looked straight into his, or the exhilaration that was running through both of them from the battle, but for the first time he noticed that her magic felt _stronger_.

"Cullen, tell me you'll be alright?" Her lips pursed into a quivering thin line and she gripped his arm harder. As strong as she was, she needed him to reassure her.

"We'll both be alright, Evelyn. Nothing will keep us apart. Everything will be fine. Now go, Love."

Cullen pulled her in for a fast and savage kiss. It fortified him and he cared not who saw them. When he let her go she was glowing behind a beautiful smile, filled with determination and the contentment of belonging.

The Commander couldn't wait to dive back into battle. And he couldn't wait to finish the fighting and have her back in his arms. They turned from one another, might and magic blazing, and faced their duty with renewed purpose.

xxxx

The Inquisitor was outclassed. Completely, thoroughly, totally outclassed. _It was wonderful. _She was holding her own, of course. She'd had more training and fighting experience since joining the Inquisition than most mages ever received in the entirety of their lives. But she certainly wasn't the most dangerous mage on the battlefield. That distinction belonged to Marian Hawke. Followed closely by her sister and matched almost equally by Fenris who, for all the lyrium he commanded and the horrific powers he derived from it, may as well have been a mage himself.

The trio of hardened warriors at Evelyn's side were possibly the most lethal group of people she'd ever been in the presence of. Which was saying something when the people she was typically in the presence of consisted of a former Templar Knight-Commander, and the former Hands of the Divine.

Consequently, Evelyn felt just about average. Ordinary. _Wonderful_. The burden of her magic no longer seemed like such a burden. She wasn't an abomination or a pariah, or even anything special at all. She was just a mage. A very normal mage, with normal ability that made her no more vulnerable to temptation than anyone else, mage or not. She was not an object of revulsion or a dangerous beast to be feared or cast out. The fear she had always had of herself was slowly releasing its hold on her and she'd never felt more liberated.

She considered herself blessed to be in the company of such extraordinary people who, by just being themselves, gave her the gift of feeling ordinary. Evelyn tried to stay focused despite her happy excitement. There were lines of the Chant that, over the years of repeating them endlessly, she thought might be carved into the backs of her eyelids and seared into her brain. There were other lines that she had seldom found reason to sing, perhaps not feeling worthy of them, or not feeling as though she could find meaning in them given her circumstances. But her circumstances were different now and it was time she starting wearing out some new passages.

_All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned! Let no soul harbor guilt! Let no soul hunger for justice! By the Maker's will I decree harmony in all things. Let Balance be restored and the world given eternal life._

They reached the top of another long staircase and emerged into an area that appeared deserted. Staying true to their task, Cullen and his men stomped through the fortress like giants, throwing themselves into the fighting with bloodthirsty glee. The enemy had no choice but to engage them. The Commander offered no respite and gave his opponents no quarter, storming their lines, then chasing them down when they tried to retreat. He would not be ignored, which allowed Evelyn and her group to be mostly ignored.

Mostly. It was difficult to say if it was her mark that drew straggling demons to them or if it was the unhinged magic of Hawke or if it was even the wild call of the lyrium burning brightly off Fenris's skin. It was likely that all three of those things hindered their ascent.

Though Cullen was certainly bearing the brunt of the horde's wrath that opposed them, the small group trying to get to the Warden-Commander was dogged at each turn by Fade spawn, making their progress much slower than Evelyn anticipated. The landing they now entered was no different. Though it was obvious Cullen and his men had already been through the area, Evelyn's party had barely taken two steps out into the open when yet another Pride demon seemed to fall from the sky and land right in front of them.

Everyone moved quicker than Evelyn could materialize her blade. Bethany lifted a barrier and Hawke released a bolt of energy even as Fenris pulled her backwards, away from the first swing of the demon's clawed fist. After getting Hawke out of the way, Fenris disappeared in a flash of lyrium light only to emerge behind the beast, rearing his greatsword back in a wide overhead arc before he swung down and severed the thing's arm clean off.

Instead of pressing their advantage as the demon wailed and doubled over in pain, Fenris rushed back to his companions, grabbed Hawke by the arm and started leading her away.

"This isn't our fight. Leave it for the Commander. Let's go, Marian. Now." The intensity of the elf's large green eyes left no room for argument, but Hawke argued anyway.

"That Templar's been having all the fun!" She whined, earning her a disapproving scowl from Fenris.

"He's right, Sister, we need to move on. Hurry." The Warden ran ahead waving them along down a side passage towards the west battlements away from the demon before it recovered.

Evelyn brought up the rear and just as they exited the area, she heard her Commander's voice behind her yelling to his men.

_"__Here! The demon is here trying to retreat. It's wounded, finish it!" _

The Inquisitor smiled to herself and she almost thought she could hear Cullen strike the killing blow when,

"_Fuck_!" Hawke swore and stumbled backwards, Fenris snatched her away again and pushed her flush to the ground before he covered her with himself. Bethany dragged Evelyn down to join them.

Before the Inquisitor knew what was happening, there was an ear-piercing roar that sounded like it was right on top of them. The battlements shook and Evelyn almost felt like the structure would collapse out from under them. Frantic, she looked around while still cowering, prostrate on the flagstones. She chanced a glance up at the dark sky and saw something huge fly past, above their heads. Its giant wing grazed the wall above them causing bits of weathered stone and masonry to crumble away.

Each of the three mages simultaneously erected shields to keep from being crushed by the rain of debris. Evelyn was certain her heart stopped beating in her chest and all the air was sucked from her lungs. The light of the moons was blotted out by the colossal flying creature. Even without seeing clearly, Evelyn knew what it was. She'd heard it before, seen it before. It was a dragon. The dragon from Haven that ran them out, brought the mountain down upon them, nearly wiping them off Thedas, nearly killing Cullen.

Paralyzed for a moment beneath panic and the fear of her memories, she didn't know how she managed to speak but she did.

"It's the Elder One's dragon! We can't stay exposed out here!"

_And I have to get back to Cullen!_

She didn't need to waste any more effort convincing them to move. As the dragon disappeared around the opposite side of the fortress, they crawled along the floor of the battlement. They were met by scattered Wardens and scattered Inquisition soldiers all of whom were thrown off kilter and off their feet by the unexpected appearance of the dragon. Their group's forward progress to find better cover proved too slow for an impatient Hawke.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Hawke stood to her full height and pushed her way past everyone. She waved her hand forward lazily. A stunning explosion of force shot out from her seemingly unimpressive gesture. Not only were the wardens and soldiers thrown back, flipping end over end only to land right down onto their backsides again, but everything else in the vicinity was sent flying as well. A cart full of supplies, a huge ballista aimed at where the Inquisition forces were coming up over top of the walls from ladders erected far below, it was all effortlessly ejected out of Hawke's path.

The Champion calmly walked forward, turning a corner to yet another set of stairs climbing upwards. She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of them. "Hurry up before that fucking dragon circles back around."

They all scrambled to follow.

xxxx

"_What_ in the Maker's fucking glory was _that_?" Cullen demanded, as he ran through the fortress, up and up, trying to get to a better vantage point to see what had shaken Adamant's ancient foundations.

Rylen chased after him, looking exhausted but alive and well, having secured the east battlements. "It's the dragon from Haven, Commander. I'd say it's here to finish us off, but it doesn't seem to be doing the Wardens any favors right now either. The damn thing swept away a whole unit of them right over the walls when it flew past us. It looks like it's doing circles 'round the place climbing up to the top of the keep."

"Have you seen the Inquisitor?" Cullen started taking steps two and three at a time in great bounding leaps trying to match the dragon's speed upwards.

"No, but Ser Barris did. He said Her Worship passed him on the west side. She and her group were able to duck into some cover and last report was they were still working their way up to the top as well, double time."

_I have to get back to Evelyn!_

Cullen held their coin in the hand of his shield arm. He squeezed his fist around it and didn't let it go even when he had to use his shield to clear a path as the enemy regrouped and came at them again. The dragon circled them twice more before he reached the top of the keep, Rylen and their men following close behind.

He rounded the last bend and out into the open. Gasping in air that felt too thin at this height, he had to brace himself against a fierce and frozen wind that whipped past, but the wind wasn't the only thing that forced him to find his footing. They emerged onto the highest landing of the fortress to see it crumbling away under the weight of a dragon.

The screech of the wounded monster falling out of the sky split through Cullen's brain like an axe and the entire world around him slowed to a crawl before his eyes. He could suddenly hear his heart pounding out a sluggish drumbeat, as if it knew that it didn't want to continue beating past the next moments and was desperately trying to keep them from coming.

The stones under their feet vibrated precariously and started cracking. He had to widen his stance to stay upright. Evelyn was running towards him. Behind her he saw Hawke, the indomitable Hawke, fall out of sight, with Fenris not so much falling as diving down into the abyss after her. Bethany stumbled and then she fell too.

Without feeling his feet touch the ground he moved, _practically flew_, to where Evelyn was and he lunged for her as the stones beneath her fractured. Discarding his sword, letting it plummet into the night, he grabbed at Evelyn's hand and caught her, but when he tried to pull, he had no leverage and there was nowhere for his limbs to find purchase. He felt his insides drop and he closed his eyes.

_Why did he close his eyes?_

Cullen didn't even see her face when she fell, slipping from his grasp as he was yanked back up onto solid stone by Rylen. There was a bright flash of green and then mortifying silence. He lay flat on his back, stunned, breathless and still holding their coin.

_Why didn't he give her back the coin?_

When the dust cleared, and the eerie green light faded from the sky, she was gone. There was nothing. And he'd lost everything.

_Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world._


	34. Brothers and Mentors

_A/N: My muse took an extended vacation after she gave me the finger and laughed as she left. I've been writing another story (which I'm having a blast with) to get me in the groove again and it has really helped me. I had intended for this chapter to have more in it, but I decided I really just needed to get back on the horse so to speak. I hope posting what I have here will get me motivated to keep going with this story because I really love writing it. So, I'm just gonna go with it and not stress. (That being said, it's late, I'm tired, I didn't even really read through this well and I reserve the right to delete this chapter later and run screaming from this story again.) This is a fun hobby right…? If you're still here, thank you for reading :)_

* * *

_**Chapter 34: Brothers and Mentors**_

Evelyn groaned and rolled away from the boot nudging her in the ribs.

"Wake up sleepy-head. Rise and fucking shine." Hawke's caustic words were music in her ears. They were alive. "Care to share _what the fuck you did_, Inquisitor?"

She sat up and looked around at the macabre scene in which they found themselves. It was odd, this corner of the Fade, and Evelyn knew without a doubt it was the Fade. Everything was off-color, oddly angled and just _wrong_. They had apparently landed among the remains of a large building, but the walls had been reduced to smoking rubble and small fires still burned in patches of debris. Corpses blackened down into human-shaped piles of ash littered the area.

"She brought us into the _Fade_. We're in the _damned Fade_. _Again_." Fenris stalked like a caged beast, holding his greatsword and swearing a mean streak in Tevene. Evelyn recognized several choice phrases that Dorian used regularly, but the rest of the elf's tirade was lost on her. His meaning, however, wasn't hard to imply.

"The Inquisitor saved our lives, Fenris." Bethany was warily stepping through their surroundings as well. She poked at a charred body with her staff. It fell to dust at the touch.

"To what end?" He demanded of Bethany and then he addressed Hawke. "This isn't like with the somniari boy. We are _actually_ here." He rounded on Evelyn. "And we need to find a way out, _now_."

Evelyn could feel him forcibly trying to dampen the hum of his lyrium. The song of it was so much louder here than on the other side of the Veil. There was no way they would go unnoticed for long. Demons would be swarming before they even had a chance to get their bearings, if there even was such a thing in the directionless space of the Fade.

She had no idea what had made her use the mark to bring them here. As with most things concerning the strange magic in her hand, she didn't so much use it as suffer through whatever it decided to do to her on its own.

When Evelyn's senses slowly came back into focus she realized they were in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The place was hardly recognizable as anything but a demolished heap yet somehow she knew. Fenris was right. They needed a way out. Now.

She extended her hand and tried to open a rift. If it worked to get them here it was worth a try to see if it could return them as well. Unfortunately, the only thing she succeeded in doing was sparking off a flare of green-colored energy that went up her arm instead of outward into the Fade.

She cried out and shrank back, clutching at her hand. It burned and the eerie glow of the rift magic coursed through the veins under her skin.

Hawke scoffed. "So much for that."

"We should move on." Fenris added impatiently, pacing now.

"Move on where?" Bethany asked. The Warden was soft-spoken as usual, with an air of resignation to her words.

Evelyn barely heard her companion's discourse through the searing pain in her arm. She couldn't afford to be incapacitated here. This was largely a mess of her own making so it was up to her to find a way out of it.

_And get back to Cullen._

The thought of him spurred her into action. Taking a chance she would normally have preferred not to take, she pushed some healing magic into her marked limb. In the grand scheme of things, a small healing spell was hardly what would damn them here when compared to the force of Fenris' lyrium and the brashness of Hawke's magic. _And her sarcasm._ Evelyn was hardly a skilled healer but when it mattered she made it count. The pain in her arm subsided and the light of the mark died down.

Taking another chance that was more necessary than indulgent, she drew Cullen's hilt and held it at the ready, her spirit blade shining true and bright.

It had been quite some time since she'd wielded her enchanted sword in the Fade. It felt familiar and comfortable now, when before she could only remember feeling paralyzing anxiety. With each swing of her weapon, each spark of her magic and each barbed taunt of Solas during those early days of her secret training she recalled feeling nothing but apprehension and the twist in her gut of impending doom. She was clumsy and reluctant and it was only now that she realized her hesitation served no one and did nothing but fuel her own misguided fear.

_Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him._

Evelyn recited her tried and true mantra to center herself. The well-worn words had once been chains that kept her and her magic tethered to self-imposed silence. Now, when she spoke them she _owned_ them. They did not own her.

Solas had put her through her paces and though each moment of her training with him had terrified her at the time, she was grateful for it, stronger for it. The flex of her magic was thick and tangible here in the Fade. It was a living thing, large and undeniable, but she was prepared for the feeling of it. It was practically like coming home.

_Home. Your home is with Cullen._

Evelyn reflexively squeezed the grip of her weapon, almost feeling Cullen's hand. She remembered him grabbing her in that last second. He nearly fell from the battlement with her. When she saw Rylen try to pull him back up, her sinking heart soared and she let go. Cullen still had their coin and it served its purpose yet again keeping him safe. She knew Rylen wouldn't be able to pull them both up so she let go of his hand, more joyful in her heart than she should have been.

If she had died in that moment, she would have died happy. She would have died free, as herself, having loved and having been loved. But she didn't die. The mark took control of her and her fate. Perhaps she wasn't so free after all.

Her thoughts having come full circle, she decided action was preferable to brooding. She steeled herself and was about to take a step forward, not quite knowing where "forward" would lead or if it would get them home when a wavering form took shape before her.

"_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity."_

Evelyn's breath caught in her chest and she swallowed hard. The spectral shade that manifested was clearer and it spoke. She knew its voice.

_James._

Evelyn's brother, her long dead brother, dead in this very temple, stood at attention, as if he'd been waiting for them to arrive. He wore his Templar armor, the sword of mercy emblazoned on his chest in shining steel that seemed to be the only bright thing in this raw corner of the Fade.

Evelyn heard Fenris swing his sword around in readiness and Bethany raised her staff. Hawke's magic swelled and the Champion tried to push past her, perhaps to attack, but Evelyn stopped her.

"Wait." The word was a parched whisper, but Hawke stopped in response. "I...he's…"

_What is he to you? Oppressor? Protector?_

'Brother' was too simple a word. James Trevelyan, first born of the Bann, had been her brother. They'd played together and shared a childhood, before he was a Templar and she a mage. When their roles changed, he had indeed protected her. He protected her from the Chantry, from their father and from herself.

_He silenced you. He was complicit with their control over you._

In the confines of the Fade, Evelyn couldn't be sure if those thoughts were her own or if they were being influenced by whatever demon was controlling this place. She'd willfully set aside any deep contemplation regarding her family history. It was easier to ignore and she didn't feel ready to deal with it yet. Everything was still too raw. She barely had the stamina to come this far and had danced very close to despair more than once and that was with Cullen by her side. But Cullen wasn't here. If an opportunistic demon were going to take advantage of anything it would be his absence and her unresolved, unwanted family ties. This Fade they were stuck in would be no dreamscape, no training ground to test her skill, no quiet lake with Cullen. This Fade would be a nightmare.

Evelyn took a deep breath. "The man who looked like this in life was my brother. He died at the Conclave. We should be careful."

Her companions nodded in agreement and remained poised to attack. After a long silent moment, the ghostly apparition turned without speaking further and walked away, fading quickly into the distance. He disappeared entirely, but Evelyn realized he'd given her a direction to follow, if she chose to do so.

xxxx

A sound like a siren demon's call rang inside Cullen's head. Over and over, it resonated. It deafened him and blinded him to conscious thought. The world should have ended with Evelyn gone from it. His world should have ended. But, for as many times as he'd wished the world to collapse in on itself, it never had, never would and he would have to soldier on.

The Inquisitor's departure had the opposite effect, in fact, as if the pervasive evil lurking just below the surface knew now that the only light beating it back into submission had been extinguished. And thus it thrived anew, exploding forth in a wild and ungoverned mass of entropy, erupting from every corner of Adamant. Rifts streaked across the sky multiplying endlessly and washing the battlefield in green. It was like the aftermath of the Conclave all over again, before the Herald, before hope.

Cullen's body moved without being told to do so. He'd done this enough times. He didn't need higher thought processes to fight, to kill, to order others to do the same. Thinking was exactly what he couldn't afford to do right now.

Like water running through rocks trying to flow back to the stream, every fighter on the field who wasn't a demon or a Venatori started coming together. Inquisition, Warden, side by side, battling through, pulled by an an unseen force to where Cullen stood beating back the horde with his men. They rallied around him unconsciously, drawn by his force and his control.

He had to maintain control. She was always in control. He refused to be any less than she was every day. Even without her by his side, he drew strength from her.

_How is it possible she's gone? _

He saw her fall but then she disappeared. It happened so fast he wasn't even certain about what he'd seen, even though the feeling of her hand slipping out of his grasp still lingered. The feeling of _her_ still lingered inside him.

He pulled his sword from a demon, ichor dripping from the edge of the blade. Just before he was about to plunge it into the flesh of another, something caught his eye. Someone. Solas was running towards him.

_Of all the fucking times and places._

Cullen dispatched two more demons and shouted out orders to the units nearby before the elf made it to his side. They hadn't spoken since the conversation Cullen's fist had with the other man's jaw.

"Commander, we need to hold this battlefield."

There was a seriousness and an urgency that Cullen had never seen in the normally detached mage's face. It was enough for him to lower his sword and listen intently.

Seeing he now had a rapt audience, Solas continued. "The Inquisitor is...trying to return. Here."

Cullen's hand shot out to grab the elf's tunic and pull him closer before he could stop himself. "Do you…? What…?" He took a deep breath. "_Where is she?"_

"She opened a rift. You had to have seen it from the top of the tower. She and the others with her are in the Fade. Physical forms and all. I trained her well enough. She is capable of navigating her way out, but she'll need to return _here_. Where she entered whatever nightmare she fell into, she'll need to exit the same way, so we must hold this position and give her time."

Time. He would give her all the time she needed. He would hold this fortress until all the world fell to dust around it. He would wait for her, kill for her, stomp every enemy on the field under his boot for her. He would bleed these Venatori until the Veil itself collapsed and she found her way back to him.

He let Solas go and took command with renewed purpose. If and when she did return, he would have to thank the elf. For now, he had a job to do.


	35. Transfigurations and Terrors

_**Chapter 35: Transfigurations and Terrors**_

They were trapped in a nightmare. Evelyn was certain. Terror demons plagued their path and their movement forward was slow. The ghost of her brother was nowhere to be seen as they progressed but she led their small group toward the direction he disappeared in both because she wanted to, _needed to_, find him and because they had no better plan to pursue.

All the while, the demon king who reigned over this place spoke to them, each of them, for all to hear with a disembodied voice, the embodiment of their individual nightmares.

The Warden was first. "_What do you fear Warden?"_ The thing taunted as they walked. They were silent among themselves, not wanting to listen, but not daring to ignore. "_Perhaps nothing now, you've already lost him, your dear twin. _She_ lost him. She lost them all and she sacrificed you to the Blight for her own gain. Perhaps it's not death you fear any longer, but living."_

The Warden said nothing to the demon in reply, her tired eyes betraying no emotion, but her indifference itself was telling.

Fenris and his lyrium burned with agitation and he was getting worse the deeper they ventured. He walked with his sword drawn, all his senses alerted and always shoulder to shoulder with Hawke.

"_And what of you slave?" _Spoke the demon. Fenris snarled and his lyrium flared. "_Do you imagine yourself free? Still on the run, and now not only you but two...three? They will be taken from you, their freedom taken from them as surely as your chains still glow upon your skin."_

Fenris also said nothing, but the fury emanating from him was tangible, sharp and brittle in the imaginary air and Evelyn feared it would only take but one slight push to turn the elf into a thing of terror himself.

Though she tried to ignore the demon's provocations, each a private pain, she _had_ heard and couldn't help but wonder at the substance of them. All was made clear when the Nightmare pointed the weapon of its words at Hawke.

"_Fenris will die."_ There was no veil over the torment offered to the Champion, no vague innuendo. "_Just like they all died, because of you. You think you protected any of them? You failed. You failed your family, your friends, you failed them all. Bethany will die, Fenris will die...and that babe inside you will die like all the rest."_

Evelyn froze, too shocked to keep moving. Fenris exploded, too enraged to keep still. He tried to charge forward with a unholy yell and his lyrium screaming along with him, but there was nothing for him to attack but shapeless, formless fear. Hawke held him back, with an arm across his chest and at the touch of her magic his lyrium quieted but only by a fraction. When she responded to the demon, it was with her typical irreverence, but there was an icy current of anger just beneath the surface.

"Is that the best you can do? You should have thrown some spiders at me instead." She laughed, cold and terrifying, and there was no amusement in her next statement. "_I'm not losing any of my own to you demon. No matter what."_

There was no time to question Hawke or confront her on the revelation of her condition and _why under the Maker's Grace_ she thought it wise to put herself in this position. At least Fenris' behavior made more sense now, as did a number of small things in their interactions that if Evelyn had been paying closer attention to she might have picked up on. She should have been paying closer attention, but she was too caught up in her own stress to observe that of the Champion's, buried as it was under her brazen actions and easy confidence. There was no time to question, however, because Hawke's request for spiders was granted.

Waves of them, crawling up from the ground, emerging from under rocks, creeping through crumbling walls, practically falling from the sky, they were besieged by arachnids of every shape and size, the likes of which Evelyn was certain could not exist anywhere outside of this sinister and all too real dream.

Despite their strength in making it this far, despite their collective experience and battle hardened skins, they all nearly snapped beneath the onslaught of the poisoned crawling screeching inhuman unnatural creatures that swarmed them like a plague. Their panic quickly became palpable and magic was flying in all directions with no organized purpose, only with the goal of trying to get the beasts _off of them._ The fight was degenerating into chaos and Evelyn madly searched for a way to escape the clutter of spiders.

All she could see were black legs and black eyes, hundreds, thousands of legs and eyes. She lashed out with fire, with ice, with force trying to break free and find a path to run to. She felt like she was stumbling, staggering pointlessly, fighting with minimal effect until something flashed in the corner of her vision and she heard a familiar voice speak inside her head.

"_The Light shall lead her safely, through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light."_

As if the Chant itself sparked a beacon for her, Evelyn suddenly saw an illuminated form off beyond the mass of enemy pressing on them. She let loose another burst of fire, clearing a line of sight to where her brother stood once again in his armor, waiting for her, beckoning her forward, giving her a path. She shouted to her companions with renewed hope, directing their attention to the newfound escape route. When all of them focused their attacks, they were able to push through the horde and follow James Trevelyan's spirit to relative safety.

They ran at first, then their pace slowed as the spiders receded into the distance behind them. When they had their wits about them again, they found themselves in a clearing. It was no less bleak than the mangled mix of rocks and ruin that they'd been navigating through thus far, but this area had, at its center, a small desk upon which sat a piece of parchment.

Drawn by an unseen force, her heart still pounding and her skin still crawling from the spider attack, Evelyn walked up to the desk without hesitation and snatched up the letter as if she'd come into the Fade to do just that.

She held the thing in her hands for a moment, wondering what possessed her to toss aside her caution and interact voluntarily with an object in the Fade. She heard her companions sayings things to her, likely cautioning her, but they sounded far away and soon their voices disappeared entirely, replaced by the sound of her brother's voice in her head as she started reading the words on the page. It was a letter, and it was addressed to her.

_Dearest Sister,  
__I'm not sure why I'm writing to you other than to give my hands something to do beside shake. I certainly never intend to let you read this letter. I was late reporting in to the Knight-Commander. I didn't mean for your lesson to go on for so long today but you were doing so well with the new daggers I didn't want to cut things short. I'm afraid I won't be able to stay with you as long when next we have some time to train together. I'll probably have nightmares tonight without the lyrium. I hope you sleep better than I will.  
__Your Brother, James._

A past James writing to a past Evelyn. Was this a trick of the Fade or had her brother led her here to see something true? Having finished reading, she shook off the daze she'd slipped into and recovered enough to hear Hawke swearing at her.

"Is that brother of yours a fucking demon or not? I'd like to say he seems helpful, but I'll be damned if I take any help from anything in this place."

Evelyn was about to reply when she noticed another piece of parchment floating to and fro on a non-existent breeze a little ways off from where they stood. Without giving Hawke an answer, she turned and, not entirely of her own volition, she followed the page dancing on the air. After a short but ridiculous chase, she was able to grab hold of what looked to be another letter. Again, she read to herself, hearing her brother's voice, as the others looked on, confused.

_Dearest Sister,  
__I'm so sorry. Maker, I don't even know if you felt what I did to you, but I had to do it and better I did it before Father noticed. You looked tired when you left the Chantry. Was it because there were so many people at the holiday service? Was it because you were trying so hard yourself to keep quiet? Or was it because I silenced you? I don't know if it's because I'm your brother or if it's because I'm a Templar, but I could feel you struggling. Perhaps it was no kindness what I did, but I wish you knew how necessary it was. If you hate me, so be it. I hate myself.  
__Your Brother, James._

The letter fluttered from Evelyn's hand and fell upon the ground. She left it there and moved on. The others followed. At the very least, they weren't getting attacked, so the path they were on seemed sensible enough. The content of the letter was nothing she didn't know, nothing she hadn't already guessed at, but it was hard to hear in her brother's voice, hard to go back to that time and place when she only wanted to move forward in her life and escape this nightmare.

Eventually they came to a crooked sort of mountain pass. His sword drawn and his shield raised, her brother blocked the way.

"_Those who bear false witness and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker and He shall judge their lies."_

The letter that lay at James' feet was singed at the edges. Evelyn picked it up and read.

_Dearest Sister,  
__It seems our lives were always destined to be what they are. Our father lives a lie. And so we are forced to make our lives lies as well. He is not who he makes others believe that he is. It was the Knight-Commander who showed me the Chantry records, locked in a room to which only he had the key. He told me there was nothing to be done, politics and power being things far above the likes of a soldier. But he said he didn't want to keep if from me any longer, why things are the way they are. Bann Trevelyan must keep control at all costs. It is not mages he hates, it is the world, its entropy, his place in it and how he came into it. He was born in the Circle to a mage, a product of our grandfather's sin and indiscretion. He should have been just another nameless orphan, and was for a time, but the old man sired no others and so our father was made his heir, the truth of his parentage locked away. The mother he never knew, made tranquil. Abuse upon abuse, lies upon lies, I cannot bear to write any more details of the house of cards that is our house. Modest in temper. Bold in deed. Our father must keep order or the house will collapse. It is impossible to say though if he acts for that reason alone, or if he acts from a place of defiance. Defiance against who he really is and what the world really is. I must burn this letter. If only I could burn the past with it.  
__Your Brother, James._

Evelyn looked up from the letter and at her brother. He stared past her, unseeing, but he spoke again.

"_Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever, but the one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction."_

Then he turned and disappeared again.

"What the fuck is going on on?" Hawke demanded, rousing Evelyn from the spell of her past. She'd been so entranced by the revelations in the letters, she hadn't been listening to the relentless pressure of Nightmare's psychological attacks on the rest of her party. Looking at them all now, she saw they were _done_, their nerves frayed, their patience at an end.

"Listen to me, Inquisitor, and listen carefully." Hawke pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Either you find us a way out of the fucking Fade right now, or I'm going to break up this little beyond the grave family reunion of yours and tear my own fucking hole through the Veil to get _me and mine back to the other fucking side_." Magic rose up around Hawke and an arrow of anxiety pierced through Evelyn when she realized that not only was The Champion deadly serious, but she might just be capable of doing exactly what she said. What she told the demon was no empty threat. This woman was going to protect her family no matter the cost.

_As your brother protected you. As he still protects you. Follow him._

Evelyn raised her arms like a white flag, attempting to quiet Hawke's ire. "Champion, please. This spirit is helping us. Somehow, he's been placed here to help us. Only a little further, I beg you. Follow me."

All were silent for a few heartbeats, but then the Warden sighed and walked past Evelyn to forge on ahead where James was leading. Fenris grabbed Hawke's hand. This time it was him silencing her magic with his touch. He led her to follow after Bethany. Hawke shot daggers at Evelyn as she walked past, but Evelyn just thanked the Maker, _and her brother_, and they kept going.

Almost as if they had come full circle, they exited the mountain pass and emerged into the ruins of the conclave once again, Red Lyrium rock formations pulsed with an eerie glow all around them. Another letter was impaled upon one of the jagged outcroppings. Gingerly, not wanting to touch the stuff, but desperate to get at it, Evelyn plucked it off and read.

_Dearest Sister,  
__The Conclave is our chance. I'm convinced. Everyone is convening there, mages and Templars from everywhere, and anyone with an interest in the war. I know I should be grateful that our father has kept the worst of the fighting from our doorstep and held the Order here together with his iron will. No matter what, they are my brothers as much as you are my sister. I want to help them but I must help you first. And our current safety from the fighting doesn't forgive the man's past actions. I've convinced the Knight-Commander, the Revered Mother and our father to send us with a delegation from Ostwick. We must break free when we get there. We'll find another faction to join, or if no one will have us, then we will go it alone. No matter what happens we will not return here. I'll find lyrium wherever I can and if I cannot then I will just have to stop taking it. It isn't as if I don't know what it's like to go without. I won't abide these chains any longer. We will go. I will free us from this nightmare, I will free you, even if it costs me my life. If we succeed, I swear I will give you all of these letters so you know how much I loved you despite what I've had to do to keep us both safe.  
__Your Brother, James._

When she finished the letter her marked hand ignited and pain tore up her arm bringing her to her knees. Though the terrible burning sensation that spread through her blurred her vision, she managed to make out the form of her brother, kneeling as she now was, propped up by his sword.

"_O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked."_

The ground started to shake and the Veil shuddered. Something was coming. She felt it. Her brother continued his prayer and she spoke the next verse aloud with him.

"_My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Seat me by Your side in death. __Make me one within Your glory."_

When he disappeared for a final time, she was certain it was to take his seat by the Maker's side. He'd been judged whole and though he couldn't protect her from what was to come, he'd given her a chance. This Nightmare that approached must be defeated to escape from here. It would not be the first nightmare she'd battled back, nor would it be the last. She pushed down the pain in her hand and stood.

"The demon won't let us leave. The Mark is active." She held out her hand to show them, but it was obvious. "I think I can open a rift here but we'll have to subdue the Nightmare first, and we can't let it follow us through." Evelyn lit Cullen's sword in her other hand, bolstered by the comfort it gave her. She readied herself for a fight as the screech of monsters rent the air.

"About fucking time." Hawke shouted as the demon attacked.

* * *

_A/N: I seem to still be operating from a place of "omfg just finish it and post it already." Fitting, since this chapter is in the Fade and no matter how much I read wiki about it and mull over how it should be, I still understand nothing about the Fade, magic, or basically anything associated with it in the DA:I storyline. This is where I hide under my AU umbrella. :) Why are some chapters so hard and some so easy? Well, I suppose the only chapters I find easy are the ones where Cullen is hard. ;p Thank you for reading!_


	36. Sinners and Saviors

_**Chapter 36: Sinners and Saviors**_

_...What if you're trapped here? What if they die? What if you die? You aren't strong enough. You never were. You'll succumb. You'll prove him right. You are chaos. You fear. You doubt. Don't trust them. Don't trust anyone. Don't trust yourself. They will all fall. You will fall. You will fail…_

Evelyn screamed and screamed into the black void as she fought off the demons of the Nightmare. She screamed so loud her chest hurt, but still she could hear the taunting, _endless taunting_, inside her head. Nothing could drown it out and it just grew louder and clearer with each thrust of her spectral sword and each flash of magic launched from her hand.

She didn't know how long they'd been trying to fight their way out of the Fade. Her soul felt crushed. Fear had never felt so heavy, so powerful, so _real_. Evelyn screamed out against it, futile though it was proving to be. Fenris was rabid, snarling in the face of it, a murderous beast of glowing lyrium. Evelyn almost thought that Fear should fear him. Hawke was a violent angry mess of cursing and killing, her chin held high against her fear, daring it to come at her. And it did, in unrelenting waves.

But the Warden...it was the Warden who worried Evelyn the most. Bethany's face hadn't changed when Nightmare unleashed on them. In fact, Evelyn was now sure her face had barely changed since they'd met. She was stoic acceptance, resigned persistence, and above all, she was _silent_, when the rest of them couldn't seem to stop themselves from shouting back at their foe trying to deny their fears a foothold.

Perhaps it was because she was a Warden, the Blight in their blood a constant reminder of their own looming mortality. Perhaps the demon was right and the woman had simply lost too much in life to fear death any longer. Either way, the Warden Hawke was stalwart and skilled and all too eager to engage the enemy, seemingly without thought to her own self-preservation.

So when the mark acted on its own, as usual, the series of events that followed were unavoidable and all logical decision-making was taken from them. The burn of foreign magic that invaded Evelyn through her hand, the blinding green light, like veilfire searing through to the backs of her eyes, the hole tearing across the sky, all of it was familiar. Familiar and uncontrollable.

There was barely enough room in the fighting for Evelyn to draw breath, let alone safely open a portal back to the other side of the Veil and, not knowing what the situation was there, she couldn't allow any of the demons they were engaging to escape their sequestration in the Fade. But the mark knew nothing of safety or concern for others and so the rift opened wide, just waiting for them all to jump through and land, hopefully, back home.

It was exactly what the demons wanted, so the enemy charged them en masse. The goal of Evelyn and her small crew turned quickly from self-defense to defense of the greater good. Lesser men might not have even spared a breath before they escaped through the rift, thinking only of themselves, but the four gathered against this storm were not lesser men.

Evelyn threw up barrier after barrier; spells Solas had drilled into her while hurling rocks at her in their dreams. Fenris and Hawke were a unified blur, barely seen, the spaces they occupied briefly only identifiable by the dead demons left in their wake.

And the Warden...the Warden did what her kind must do, propelled by instinct and duty. Victory. Vigilance. Sacrifice. When Nightmare itself became manifest and threatened to break free from the Fade, the Warden reacted, engaged, sought victory, ever vigilant...and was granted her sacrifice.

Evelyn blinked and it was done. Before any of them could intervene, Bethany Hawke was gone and Marian Hawke was the last of her line.

There had been many times in her life when Evelyn had felt helpless. Only recently had she begun to believe it wouldn't always be so, but that belief was fragile and now it was proven fruitless. In an instant the din assaulting her ears stopped and the only thing to be heard was Hawke's anguished bellow. Evelyn went blind to everything around them except the sight of Hawke moving to strike at Nightmare herself. Unable to command her own body, when Fenris appeared out of nowhere and shoved Hawke at her then shoved both of them at the rift, she could do nothing but fall and watch the elf turn away. The father of Hawke's unborn babe became a fading streak of lyrium light with a greatsword aimed at the demon.

Fenris' blue light turned green as the two women plummeted back down to Thedas through the rift, back down to Adamant. The sounds of one surreal battle morphed into the sounds of another. Metal clashing and the voices of men shouting surrounded them. Evelyn's heart was trying to pound through her chest. The weight of the tragedy that just unfolded for the Hawke family had yet to fully take hold of her so the overwhelming relief of returning to _her_ family, to Cullen, took hold of her instead.

_You're almost safe…_

She should have known there was nowhere safe in this world. Evelyn landed onto the hard flagstones of the fortress on her backside, only to be pulled up by a hand clenched around her throat. The burn of the mark magnified as she felt another hand clench around her glowing wrist and forcibly extend it out to the still open rift. Magic poured through her, through the Mark, and from her into the rift, keeping open what should already have closed. Hawke's magic was like nothing Evelyn had ever felt. Hawke's eyes as she looked straight at her were like nothing she'd ever seen. Indescribable pain fueled by indescribable power. Anguish, loss, _fear_, all were the fuel for Hawke's dangerous power hijacking the equally dangerous power in the mark.

_She could kill you if she wanted…_ As all those Hawke had loved had been killed.

Evelyn was helpless yet again, and more terrified by it than she could remember ever being but she heard all too clearly the words Hawke spoke to her as the Champion forced more and more magic into the rift.

"You are going to hold that door open, Inquisitor, until Fenris comes out of it or I swear I will end all of us here."

It was only then that Evelyn remembered what Hawke had once said to her.

'_Don't trust your friends either, Inquisitor…'_

xxxx

Cullen's world was once again bathed in green light. The fighting had been relentlessly intense, but he barely noticed. The rhythm of battle fell in sync with the pulse of his blood and the chant in his head.

_Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion..._

When two forms emerged from a giant newly opened rift, Cullen felt in his heart that it was Evelyn before he even saw her face.

_I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see The Light is here._

His light had returned to him and with a surge of elated strength he cleared a path to where he saw her falling. The throngs of enemy combatants were thick but he pushed through knowing it would be over soon. The rifts would close, they would clean up their enemy and they would rise victorious yet again, blessed by the gift of Andraste's Herald.

_Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

The first thing he saw clearly was Evelyn's hand, glowing and lifted up towards the rift. Through swings of his sword he saw her face but her expression wasn't firm with determination, as when he'd seen her close rifts in the past, it was twisted in fear. He charged with his shield like a mad bull and when he reached her he saw her feet dangling off the ground. She was held up by her throat and he felt the force of powers he knew all too well, _loathed_ all too well. He could taste Hawke's magic in the air, all over Evelyn, overpowering his love's lilting song and feeding foul energy into the mark. Hawke was holding open the huge rift, _only the Maker knew why,_ and through it demons were pouring like blood from a wound.

Fury and hate filled Cullen, mindless and urgent. Even if he'd spared the time to wonder at the reasons for the appalling scene before him, _which he did not,_ he still would have acted as he did. For Evelyn. To protect Evelyn.

Cullen lunged for Hawke but was forced back. He tried again and again, unsuccessful each time, pushed away by a potent spell of protection that emanated from Hawke, the likes of which he'd never experienced. He shouted for Barris, for Rylen, for the Templars. He himself tried to subdue the mage who was killing _his_ mage with all the remnants of the ability he had left from the dregs of lyrium still singing inside of him. In that moment he knew nothing but a primal rage directed at the women he had _known_ he shouldn't have relied upon and yet he had, failing Evelyn, failing them all.

When a wall of Templars finally arrived it was all they could do to silence Hawke enough to just get near her. The only thought Cullen had as he dove forward was that he just needed to get his hands on Hawke and he would _strangle the life out of her_ as she was trying to do to Evelyn. When he reached the two women he lifted his sword against The Champion but he never landed the blow because a pain like nothing he'd ever experienced suddenly ripped through him. It was impossible to fight through and it rendered him utterly defenseless. He had wanted to protect Evelyn. And Hawke had someone who wanted to protect her.

His vision streaked white with agony as he saw the rift above them suddenly snap closed. Evelyn fell to the ground in a heap. He wanted to go to her but he couldn't move. _Why couldn't he move?_

A ghost of an image then shimmered in front of him and became solid right before his eyes. It was a man. It was..._Fenris?_ Cullen moved his gaze from the elf's face, which was contorted and blood streaked, down to his armor where a giant gash cut clean through the metal, and finally down to his arm, bare of its ever present gauntlet, glowing in lyrium and disappearing into Cullen's own chest.

The Commander thought he'd danced with death before but now he knew those times were mere passing flights of fancy compared to the sheer helpless mortality he now faced. All the things that had been swirling through his mind during the battle started rapidly draining away. He thought he heard his name being shouted, then Fenris' name and Hawke's, _so many names, so much shouting, what were they all saying? _He tried to add to the cacophony by calling out the only name that mattered to him, Evelyn's, but when he opened his mouth it filled with blood. It bubbled out over his lips and spurted across Fenris' already bloodied face. The elf didn't seem bothered.

Right before Cullen blacked out, in a wash of blood and blue light, he marveled at the fact that, in the end, it was still the damn lyrium that had killed him.

But it hadn't.

When consciousness yanked him back from the peace of oblivion, he found himself wishing he actually had died. Pain redefined itself yet again as his insides burned, twisted and clenched in rhythmic waves of trauma. He was flat on his back now, looking up at a black sky absent of stars. _Hadn't he just been standing?_ When he blinked and refocused his eyes, he saw not Fenris' face but Hawke's leaning over him, and the hand touching his chest was hers.

_At least it isn't _through _your chest. _

Cullen wasn't sure he liked how glib his reaction to life and death had become. He watched, because he was unable to do anything else, as healing magic was poured over and into him, conjuring him back to life. As more of his senses returned he realized it was not only Hawke's magic on him, but Evelyn's, _thank the Maker_, and Solas' as well.

More flashes of light, and more _fucking unbearable_ pain went on for what seemed like an age all while he just lay there wondering. He wondered why Hawke had tried to kill Evelyn. Why Fenris had tried to kill him. And why Hawke was now helping to reverse the attempt. The rifts were gone, he noticed, and if there was fighting still being waged it must be coming to an end. He wondered if there were any Wardens left to stand their vigil against the Blights. He wondered if anyone cared. They were saviors and sinners both. As they all were. The Wardens, the Mages, the Templars. He was. Evelyn was. Hawke and Fenris, too. In the end, _though he was glad this wasn't his end_, would anyone care about any of them?

His answer came with the touch of soft lips on his forehead and the song of Evelyn's magic humming in his ears. The magic of the others healing him faded away. He was tired now, so tired, but he managed to sit up with Evelyn's help. She whispered reassurances, praise and thanks to the Maker in his ear and it felt good to _feel_ her breath on his skin. If no one else cared about any of them, it didn't matter because _he_ cared for _her_ and she for him. If nothing else existed, if armies neither rose nor fell and wars were neither lost nor won, there would still exist their love and, in the end, _that_ was what mattered.

But it wasn't only _theirs_, them, he and Evelyn. Because as he indulged in his moment of _meaning_, of purpose in the void that only a brush with death can bring into focus, he noticed another set of souls indulging in theirs. Worlds apart, with nothing else in common, no other common ground on which to build, Cullen watched as Hawke huddled on the ground with Fenris. She kissed her lover's forehead as Evelyn had kissed his. They whispered to each other. They held each other. They shut out the rest of the damned world as if it didn't matter at all, because it didn't. Only they mattered. Sin and spite and blood and death, all of it washed away in the wake of their improbable, unexpected, everlasting bond.

Cullen would inevitably have to find out the whats and whys and hows of everything that had just transpired, but he would no longer be able to deny that whatever those answers were, he would _understand_ them. As he now better understood Hawke and Fenris. Because he now better understood Evelyn and Cullen.

* * *

_A/N: A few things...I just blurted out the latter 2/3 of this chapter this evening because I was finally in the mood to write it, plus I feel good about posting a chapter for this story in the month of July -my time zone at least- just under the wire because I didn't want to go a whole month without updating it :( I hope I stay in the mood to keep writing this because I like that I'm still having fun with it (even if I don't update regularly anymore and I feel like I've been writing this story for fucking ever) and also the rest of the story has nothing to do with the canon DA:I plot from here on out so finally, FREEDOM. :) So. Okay. Thanks for reading my rambling. Both the story and the author's notes ;)_


	37. Peril and Persuasion

**_Chapter 37: Peril and Persuasion_**

"She's _pregnant_?" Cullen could feel the scowl on his face. It didn't seem right to scowl at news like that but such were the times they lived in, _and such were the people they lived with_, he supposed.

"I know what you're thinking." He couldn't see Evelyn's disapproval at his tone, but he heard it loud and clear.

Her head was lowered over his shoulder as she stitched up a wound there. The aftermath of the siege had seen every mage with any skill in healing taxed to their limit, Evelyn included, especially after she helped to close the gaping hole in his chest. What remained of all the non-life threatening cuts and scrapes suffered were left to conventional treatment methods. Which suited Cullen just fine. He'd always appreciated the sting of a well-earned wound getting sewn up after a worthy fight. The fact that it was Evelyn's touch against the broken skin, deft and gentle, made it almost pleasurable even.

He sighed where he lay face down on the cot in their tent. "And what's wrong with what I'm thinking?"

"They love each other, Cullen. I know you understand _that_ even if you don't want to admit it. You would have done no less for me if my life had been threatened, and in fact, you were trying to do just that. Fenris simply got to you before you could get to Hawke."

"Is that supposed to be a slight against my fighting prowess?" Cullen made the query only partially in jest.

"_Men_." Evelyn grumbled.

"'_Men_' indeed. I've always known Hawke to act before she thinks, but I would have thought Fenris more sensible than to get her with child given their circumstances. The man was always practical and smart, even if he did just almost kill me. Which, by the way, I forgive him for because you're right, I tried to do the same."

Cullen felt proud of himself for making that step towards understanding and forgiveness, but if he thought Evelyn would agree with what he considered a mature and magnanimous statement, she swifty disavowed him of that misconception by smacking him right on the back of his head.

"Ow!" It hadn't hurt but he felt the need to express his indignation. He rubbed lightly, if dramatically, at the spot. "Did you get that from Mia? Because I really wish you'd make friends with people who didn't teach you things like that."

Evelyn rose and stood, arms crossed and face looking even more cross. He reluctantly sat up to take whatever scolding he was about to receive but, he reserved the right to argue his point. He found himself feeling more comfortable talking through things with her now. Feelings that in the past he might have buried rather than voice or opinions he might have dismissed or kept to himself, he realized he wanted to own them and especially to share them with her. With the loss of lyrium and the gain of Evelyn he felt more and more like he actually was walking away from the Chantry automaton he'd once been. Even if they didn't always agree, he could be himself here with her, good and bad, and he hoped she could as well.

As it turned out, she seemed to feel fairly comfortable letting him know where he could stick his opinion on this.

"Cullen Stanton Rutherford."

_Oh for Maker's fucking sake. His middle name? _Evelyn had definitely been spending too much time with his sister.

"How dare you judge how the two of them express their love. And how dare you dictate what the 'correct' course of their life should be. If we all did things correctly, I seriously doubt you and I would be here together right now. So I say, thank the Maker for 'bad' decisions."

Evelyn was visibly upset. Far more so than Cullen thought she should be over just his opinion on Hawke and Fenris' growing family. Her ears were burning red and the little pulse in her neck that he loved to nip at was throbbing wildly.

He got up, concerned that Evelyn was actually having a conversation about something different, something more personal than the life choices of a couple she'd only known a short time and who not but a matter of hours ago had put her at mortal peril. When he tried to move towards her, however, he found his intention to soothe was trumped by his still battle-ravaged body. The joints in his legs creaked and sharp pains shot through his very recently healed wounds. With a groan and a stumble he retreated back to the cot. Evelyn launched herself forward to help him. Now not only had he apparently been the one to stoke her temper, he was failing at calming it. He tried to protest her help, wanting to get to the bottom of her irritation but she shushed him into submission.

"You'll tear your stitches if you keep moving. You need to rest." She ordered sternly.

He laid back down, mostly because he couldn't force his limbs to do much else. "Fine," he grumbled, "but if I lie down will you tell me what's really on your mind?"

She pursed her lips, sitting at the edge of the cot, as if considering her next actions. They both knew she had things to say, things to share, thoughts and feelings swirling around in her head that needed to come out, but was she ready? When she scooted a bit closer to him, he made room and when she laid down next to him he held her close. He stayed silent and let her be for a while, waiting.

"Family is a strange thing." The words were whispered into his chest sounding equal parts curious, exhausted and disturbed.

"Sometimes. Yes." He waited even longer for her to continue.

"I saw my brother in the Fade. Well, his spirit at least."

Cullen bit his tongue on shock and disgust. This was Evelyn's story to tell and it was not for him to interject with his prejudice. He might be more comfortable sharing his feelings now than he had in the past but there was a time and a place for potentially insensitive comments and this was not it. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge Hawke and Fenris, and he wouldn't let himself make the mistake, _again_, of judging Evelyn too quickly. He trusted her and he loved her, above all else, even in the face of Fade spirits and demons. So, he held her closer and let her speak.

Her story was halting and told in half phrases, her sentences more often than not broken by emotion. A stifled sob here. A choke of anger there. She told him everything she'd learned in her time in the Fade. While he'd been fighting to hold Adamant, she'd been fighting fear and her past. Lies and intrigue, manipulation and abuse, the sad victims of which seemed to not only be Evelyn, but her dead brother James. When she was done, she asked a question but he wasn't sure if she really wanted an answer.

"Do you think my father believes what he's done is right?"

Cullen held back his immediate response. What he wanted to say was that he didn't care. It didn't matter what the sadistic bastard thought or didn't think, he was _wrong_ and the only thing that had resulted from his actions were the suffering of many, not the least of whom were his own children. Luckily, Evelyn responded to both her own question and his unspoken answer.

"I know what he's done is wrong, of course, and he needs to answer for it, but is it possible _he_ thinks he's _right_? If Hawke had torn the Veil down and killed us all in the process, would she have thought it justified? Necessary? If Fenris had murdered you to save Hawke, would he have shown remorse? Were the Templars wrong in subduing the mages? Were the mages wrong to rebel?"

He was at a loss. The complexity of understanding the forces and motivations of others, that Evelyn was grappling with now, was something he'd always tried to avoid. The enemy of purpose is supposition. The enemy of clarity is doubt. As a Templar, with or without lyrium, he'd believed in those things.

_There is but one world, one life, one death. There is but one truth, one god and He is our Maker._

But he, and Evelyn, were both coming to find that there isn't but one _anything_. For two people who'd seen the world in black and white, it was amazing how each of their days now poured forth with more colors and shades of grey than either of them had thought possible.

"I think…" He started but he paused and focused hard on forming not just the words he would speak, but the thoughts and feelings that sourced them. "I think we can accept that everything happens for a reason and everyone has their own motivations, but I don't think it's wrong to decide for ourselves what _we_ consider to be right and let that guide how we act. Your brother clearly made a choice. Your father clearly made choices. _We_ will have choices to make. _You_ have choices to make."

Cullen tried as best he could to sit up. Evelyn helped him and he held her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. "I trust the choices you've made, Evelyn. And I trust the choices you _will_ make."

A slow and shy smile spread across her face and she lowered her eyes from his when she replied. "I trust you too."

That was enough to end the conversation for him. Still holding her face, he kissed her, long and hard, with purpose and clarity, thankful that she was the one thing in this world for him that would always be an easy choice. Unfortunately again, his mind was eager where his body was lagging. When he tried to turn them so he could lay her down, the fresh stitches in his shoulder tugged painfully and he winced inside their kiss.

Evelyn pulled away and he was almost desperate enough to pout at her denial. Fortunately she had no intention of denying him. Having made her choice, she gently pushed him down and methodically undressed him fully, taking her time and seeming to take pleasure in the slow progression of her actions and the impatient helplessness that he was sure was obvious on his face. When she was finished with him, she stripped herself of her blood and gore stained clothes until all that covered her was her hair let loose from its ties.

She climbed atop him and hugged him close, snuggling her body against his. The feel of her, the fit of her, the smell and the sight of her in that moment was worth every wound he'd ever suffered in his life to get here and if it earned him one more second of Evelyn naked and clinging to him, he'd volunteer for a near-death battle every day until the end of his days.

Inevitably, his need to have her swelled both inside and outside and thankfully, she felt the same. Unable to resist the magic of her, he let her take control and simply watched and reveled in her every action. Her fingers that had deftly sewn his skin now found purpose in stirring his desire. Her magic that had tenderly healed his wounds, now pulsed with passion and enveloped them both in a heady haze.

She was gentle with him, but relentless, and when she took him inside her, her eyes found his and she held his face so he couldn't look away. Deliberate and determined, she rode him and he was weak, powerless, but thrilled and electrified beneath her. He let the _heat_ of her wash over him in waves, and he greedily took in every beautiful glimpse of her efforts. The sweat beading on her brow, the flex of her muscles working them towards climax, the soft pants of her intimate exertions, all made him weaker and weaker until he couldn't resist her assault any longer. He practically whimpered his release as he let go and let himself spiral into oblivion. An instant later she arched then gripped his shoulders so hard bracing herself for her own peak that he thought she might have undone his stitches herself. Little did he care though as she collapsed onto him, their chests heaving in satisfied bliss.

Sadly, there was but one truth: that the world would never let them rest for very long.

Someone knocked loudly on one of the tent posts and shouted at them from outside. "Hey. You two. We need to talk. Now."

_Varric. _Cullen wondered how Evelyn would judge him if he made the choice to _murder_ Varric.

Evelyn sat up, still dazed and now obviously sleepy. "Varric? Is that you?"

"Yes, Kitten, it's me and I'm coming in there in five seconds no matter what, so you better cover whatever needs covered. Five...Four…"

Evelyn shot up at the start of the countdown and pulled on Cullen's shirt while simultaneously pulling a blanket over him. Just as Varric ducked into their tent, she sat back down on the cot, both of them now only barely modest again.

Varric rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you two have been celebrating, but we have a problem. Hawke and Fenris are trying to leave."

"And?" Cullen didn't see how this was a problem. Evelyn had already dictated that they be left alone despite their reckless actions, but given the circumstances he thought it best they leave the purview of the Inquisition.

"_And_ you need to stop them Curly."

For possibly the first time in Cullen's experience, Varric looked serious. He was intense in a way Cullen had never seen him or known him to act. Evelyn spoke up, clearly also concerned by the dwarf's abnormal gravitas.

"Varric, we can't force them to stay if they feel their path is elsewhere, but I do wish they would remain with us if only to recover and properly mourn her sister."

Varric rubbed at his forehead as if fending off a headache and started pacing. "Look, I know those two. They're not going to stick around where they think they aren't wanted. They've been shit on enough so the first thing they're going to do in any situation is leave before there's a chance they'll get shit on yet again. But we all know, _it isn't just them anymore_ and I can't let them leave when I know they're better off with us than out there, especially when I also know they can still help and still want to help."

Cullen sighed and was about to object, but Varric cut him off.

"Look Curly, I've never asked you for anything. I'm asking now. Talk them into staying. I begged them to go back to Kirkwall, but they won't, not that I blame them. I can't keep an eye on them indefinitely if they insist on this them-against-the-world nomad bullshit. And I'll be damned before I let their story have anything but a happy ending."

Evelyn swooped in at that statement. Cullen wasn't sure if it was the honor driven righteousness in her or the hopeless romantic that came to Varric's aid. "We'll talk to them, Varric. Immediately. I promise we'll convince them to stay."

Varric's stance visibly relaxed. "Thanks Kitten. And you know, Curly, you'll come to appreciate some day that the heroes in my stories always pull through. They get shitstorms and drama, but they always get a happy ending. And usually lots of sex. Not necessarily in that order."

Evelyn blushed crimson as Varric walked out of their tent but she collected herself quickly. Gathering up clean clothes for both of them, she started issuing more orders. "I'll help you dress, love. And then we'll go help Varric work on his happy endings."

Cullen thought he'd much rather work on more sex. Alas, he ended up following Evelyn out of their tent and walked gingerly beside her as she led him forward to accomplish their task which he felt was bound to involve drama and a shitstorm if only to fulfill Varric's foreshadowing.

They found Hawke and Fenris at the very edge of the Inquisition's encampments gathering supplies. It was still dark out, but a low purple glow on the horizon was about to herald the dawn. Fenris saw them coming and alerted Hawke with a glance. The Champion looked up from her pack and stood, head high and defiant, ready for a fight as always. Her red and swollen eyes, where tears had been rubbed away until raw, were the only things that betrayed her true emotion.

Unexpectedly gutted at the sight of Hawke with a hidden vein of vulnerability, Cullen stayed back as Evelyn approached them. He awkwardly bit his lip, letting Evelyn lead and not even hearing her opening statement to the once Champion. He felt inadequate to intrude. In the same way that Hawke knew more about Cullen's past trials and stumbles, he knew more about her tribulations than he was sure she was comfortable admitting for someone so proud, especially in the face of her newest loss. So he let Evelyn and her insight guide the encounter while he remained quiet and tried to convey a steadfast agreement with whatever his lover, _and their leader_, said.

Perhaps feeling similarly inept, Fenris backed away from the two women talking. Slowly, he came to stand beside Cullen. The elf's lyrium pulsed softly, and though Cullen could feel it, _hear it_, it wasn't intolerable. In fact, he almost thought it felt like an affirmation. He was alive and all the things that came with being alive, good and bad, had merit.

"I'm glad we're all alive." Fenris succinctly articulated Cullen's feelings aloud. "For what it's worth."

Cullen nodded. "I'm glad too."

They watched their women in silence for a while until Cullen ventured a question.

"Can Evelyn convince her to stay, do you think?"

Fenris flexed his fists and shifted his weight on his feet. "I hope so. And thank you, Commander. For understanding. You're a better man than you think you are."

"It's because of her." Nodding towards Evelyn, he said it without thinking, without even needing to think on it. If there was but one truth he would always admit to, it was that she was the best of him.

Fenris never took his eyes from Hawke. "I feel the same about Marian."

The men stood a while longer. The women eventually sat on the ground, still talking, but Cullen could tell Evelyn's face was relaxing down from the urgency of persuasion and Hawke's face was relaxing down from the peril of confrontation.

"I could really use a drink. Join me?" Cullen wasn't sure where he'd come up with that suggestion, but after saying it, it sounded like the best idea he'd ever had.

Fenris continued to watch Hawke while he seemed to consider the consequences of accepting. Suddenly a small smile appeared on Hawke's face. There was still sadness there too, but when the Champion's hands came to rest on her midsection, the smile grew and Fenris answered him.

"I'd like that."

"I know where we can look. Come on." Cullen led Fenris to what he knew would be a reliable, _and_ _safe_, source of liquor. The Iron Bull would likely be face down in some suspiciously brewed firewater by now. Sera had probably already pilfered whatever she could find from the Warden stores in the ruins of the fortress and shacked up with someone warm and welcoming to share it with. Dorian would be high-browing it with a bottle of something Cullen probably couldn't pronounce. But Rylen. Rylen would have stashed away something simple, strong and reliable that would reliably get them drunk.

Which was exactly how they found him. With Mia. Drunk and watching the sunrise on the crest of a hill, leaned up against one another, each holding a bottle of Rylen's stash. Cullen swallowed down his brotherly nausea enough to walk up to Mia and nudge her with his boot.

"Hey. Share." He demanded a bit childishly.

"Commander." Rylen greeted him and offered his own bottle which Cullen took, gratefully drank from, then passed to Fenris who did the same. "Good to see you up and about Ser." Cullen's second in command let a leary glance pass over Fenris but he said nothing at his choice of drinking partners.

The four of them lingered on the hillside, drinking and letting the sun rise without incident. When clouds rolled in across the sky, obstructing their view of the Maker's handiwork, Mia stretched and stood.

"I'm knackered and drunk and it's time for bed." She bent to give Rylen a kiss on the cheek then she patted Cullen on his shoulder before she left them.

"I'm going back to Hawke." Fenris announced, taking one more swig of Rylen's brew before handing it back to Cullen. "Thank you again, Commander."

When it was just the two former Templars left, Cullen sat down next to Rylen. They finished off the booze and let the bottles roll down the hill behind them.

"So, Commander, I'm just drunk enough to talk to you about few things I've been meaning to ask you."

Cullen was just drunk enough not to object, though he thought he might know where this was going. "Mm?" Was all he managed as encouragement for Rylen to continue.

"I'd like your permission to try to stop the lyrium, Ser. And also your permission to marry your sister."

In spite of himself, Cullen smiled. "Neither venture will be an easy road, my friend."

Rylen just laughed. "I like to be challenged in life I suppose. Does that mean I have your blessing? On both counts?"

"You don't need my permission for either, but yes, I support both of your choices."

Rylen seemed to relax a little, then he tensed again. "Do you, um, have any advice about which one I should accomplish first?"

On that, Cullen thought long and hard. As Evelyn had said earlier, family was indeed a strange thing. He seriously believed Rylen to be the best match for his sister that he could have hoped for. But he knew what the path of lyrium abstinence held and he couldn't say he wanted that for his sister. He'd never met Evelyn's brother, but after hearing about the last letter Evelyn read from the man in the Fade, he was certain that if they had met, he might be having this same conversation with him. In the end, he answered Rylen with what he hoped James Trevelyan would have said to him.

"My advice would be to not keep it from her. Work on it together. She'll want to help you and if anyone can pull you through the worst of it, it's Mia. She'll drag you forward kicking and screaming if she has to and believe me when I say there will be times it may come to that. She won't let you fail, trust me. And if there's one thing I've come to learn it is that burdens are easier borne when shared. Pushing loved ones away or hiding things from them does nothing but prolong the suffering. Mia can take care of herself, you don't need to protect her from this. Let her walk the path alongside you if that's what she wants. You'll be a better man for it."

Rylen eased back flat to smile up at the sky. It was the kind of wide smile that only a man who has found purpose knows. "Thank you, Brother. And I guess I mean that figuratively and literally now, eh? There's nothing like having a good woman on your side is there, Ser?"

"Nothing like it, Brother."

* * *

**_A/N: So, I've written Rylen in a few different stories now (because I love him) and somehow I always manage to make him the go-to for a drunken heart to heart. I guess I just like seeing him as that perfect common sense, no nonsense, down-to-Thedas, (super hot), friendly former Templar. Thanks for reading!_**


	38. Knights and Pawns

_**Chapter 38: Knights and Pawns**_

The Inquisition left behind crumbling fortresses and arid deserts. Spirits lifted. Crossing emerald fields and drinking from icy clear streams, hearts healed. A steady march up the mountain pass to Skyhold, _their home,_ and the battle-hardened army was united, rejuvenated and strong.

Hawke and Fenris now counted themselves among the faithful. Well, though perhaps not truly of faith, they were still faithfully following The Herald. Hawke grew with child and Fenris grew with understanding; that his world could, and would, be so much more than it had been. More than one love and one path. More than fighting to keep that which he somehow thought he was destined to lose. His world became life instead of death.

At least that's what Evelyn thought she saw in the man, and what Hawke confessed to the Inquisitor she herself felt. It was a reluctant confession, followed by bluster and bile, but that was just Hawke's way.

Cullen, on the other hand, seemed to think that the lyrium-marked warrior, who struck terror in the hearts of many, looked terrified. Perhaps that was what the elf confessed to the Commander himself with similar reluctance but lacking the bravado of Hawke. Cullen never asked what Evelyn discussed with Marian and Evelyn avoided making similar inquiries about the men's conversations.

Evelyn also didn't inquire about Ser Rylen. On a promising dawn, in a lush and wooded corner of the Emerald Graves, Cullen gave Mia away to his best friend. Since the wedding, Rylen wore a perpetual smile. It was broad and open in the first few days of married bliss with his wife. In later days, though still present, it didn't look as easy for him to maintain. Evelyn knew it was likely withdrawal from the lyrium but she didn't ask. There was no need to ask questions about it. He would endure and he would persevere with Mia's help as Cullen had with Evelyn's.

Quiet time passed, _blessedly quiet_, where life almost seemed like it was normal and not war- ravaged.

Josephine set aside the mourning black she'd worn in memory of her sister in favor of brighter garb and a brighter outlook. Every day she would find flowers on her desk, slyly placed by a sly admirer_,_ and they helped the Ambassador find her smile again.

Cassandra's smile was often buried in a book. Both smile and book were quickly hidden when anyone came by to see her, and the gruff Seeker would deny there was ever a smile there in the first place. Her friends knew otherwise though, and when she found an update to Varric's latest story, surreptitiously left on her reading spot, ahead of publication no less, no one could have forced the smile from her lips.

If Leliana smiled, Evelyn didn't see it. The spymaster was almost exclusively sequestered in her rookery. She came to war council, but was otherwise rarely seen. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, the Nightingale seemed to enjoy her life in the shadows playing shadow games, smiling or not. Sometimes Evelyn would see Josephine or Cassandra ascend to the top of Skyhold, presumably to have private meetings, and she knew Cullen did as well. The Inquisitor, however, was never invited to an individual audience with Sister Leliana and, for the most part, she was kept separate from the gambits being waged on the secret battlefields of war. Evelyn was content with that, having had enough of secrets for a lifetime.

Even beyond their walls, in the world outside, there were small rays of light shining through the dark shadows of conflict. Ferelden was celebrating the birth of their new prince, a trueborn son of their much loved warden king and queen, an heir to assure the ruling House Theirin would rule the nation for many years to come. With the uncertainty of the civil war in Orlais, the strength and unity of their own monarchs was enough to make any Fereldan smile.

Evelyn was happy to see all of her friends and allies rest and find themselves again, but it was Cullen's smile, reserved for only her to see in their moments together, that brought her the most joy.

On a rainy evening, when Evelyn was hoping to indulge in Cullen's smile from the warm comfort of their bed, he was unexpectedly summoned by the spymaster.

It was not unusual for him to have urgent business to deal with, interrupting their nights. There was also no reason to think something was amiss just because it was Leliana who required him. Despite those very reasonable points, Evelyn was decidedly restless after Cullen left. Something odd wafted on the night breeze that blew in from the balcony and something uneasy was settling into the pit of her stomach.

So, rather than wait in their quarters for Cullen to return, Evelyn decided to visit the small Chantry. The Chant always helped soothe whatever vexed her senses.

"_From every corner of the earth, The Chant of Light echoed, And the Maker walked the land with Andraste at His right hand..."_

She was halfway through the Canticle of Exaltations when Dorian interrupted her prayers.

"Time for a little coven with your fellow mages, my dear."

Evelyn turned to see her 'fellow mage' standing in the doorway smoothing out his moustache.

"I drew the small lot and was therefore sent to fetch you."

Evelyn rose from her knees and bid the statue of Andraste a final bow of her head. "Fetch me?"

"That's right! Step lively now 'Your Worship', musty old tomes and heated banter over magical theory await us in the library." Dorian made a dramatic flourish with his hands, beckoning her forward. "I know you can hardly contain your excitement, but do try, yes?"

Bewildered, but agreeable to going wherever she was needed, she left the chantry and followed Dorian to the library. As they ascended the stairs, she glanced up towards the rookery hoping to catch a glimpse of Cullen. Unfortunately, the place looked empty aside from the birds. The library also seemed deserted until Dorian led her to a far corner where a few oil lamps hung over a table laden with books. Evelyn was a bit surprised by the members of this 'coven' in which she was about to participate.

Hawke and Fenris sat together and opposite them sat Fiona, _of all people._ The former warden had been practically reclusive since Vivienne took over as the primary representative of the mages. Though Evelyn's interactions with Fiona started out less than friendly, the two of them could at least now exchange pleasantries. Fiona spent nearly as much time in the library as Dorian, so it was no surprise to find her with a stack of books in front of her, but finding Hawke here was certainly curious. If there was anyone more prone to action rather than reading and contemplation, it was Hawke.

Dorian gestured for Evelyn to sit while he attempted to take a seat in an empty chair on the other side of Fenris. An ominously low rumbling sound emerged from the elf, accompanied by a flare of his lyrium and a disapproving look. Taken together, the behavior was enough to deter Dorian, who moved immediately to a different chair, far away from Fenris. Evelyn took the one beside Fenris instead and, garnering no such disapproval as Dorian, she relaxed into her seat and waited to hear why she'd been summoned. She seriously doubted anyone would need _her_ advice on anything pertaining to magic.

"So," Hawke started, "since Fenris won't let me do a damn thing around here besides _read_, I decided to make use of my time by trying to find out exactly why Corypheus didn't die when I killed him. But, before you get all starry-eyed thinking I'm going to make some kind of great revelation, don't bother. The short answer is I have no fucking idea why he didn't die…"

Dorian interrupted with a weary moan. "I have explained _the whole bloody thing_ to you _ad nauseum_, 'Champion', as we all well know."

Fiona rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Evelyn thought even Fenris looked annoyed but, of course, he too said nothing.

Hawke waved off Dorian. "No one cares, 'Vint. The bottom line is that he's here, he's not dead, so I need to kill him again. Or some close approximation of death. Either way."

Fenris couldn't help but speak up at that. "_You_ need do nothing. _These mages_ can do something, after _you_ tell them what they need to know so that _you_ stay out of trouble."

Hawke willfully ignored Fenris. "My father helped bind Corypheus. Considering I _un_bound him, I know a few things about the magic he used."

Rather than listen to the argument perched on Fenris' lips, Fiona took the opening to interject. "Hawke thinks she can bind him again and I believe it is possible as well. I can provide her with information regarding the original Warden spells."

"Ah ah ah," the Champion corrected with a wagging finger, "'_Hawke'_ thinks '_we'_ can bind him again. I can't go solo on this one, Inquisitor. I'm going need…" Hawked paused and sighed deeply, fear and resignation obvious in the sound. "A whole lot."

"What does that mean?" Evelyn was ready to support these skilled mages in any way she could. So far, this was the only attempt anyone had yet made to assemble a viable plan to curb Corypheus himself. Cullen and Leliana had made many gains in curtailing his army but a snake only ceases to be a threat when its head is severed.

"Well, I need Fenris for one, as someone I trust to have my back given my clear physical limitations." She gestured to her rounded-off tummy. It was by no means unwieldy yet but she was proudly growing every day. "Although I can tell you 'daddy' over there isn't so thrilled by the prospect of any of this, _to say the least_."

Fenris' obvious disapproval was palpable and it seemed to be bordering on an outright order forbidding the entire endeavor. Yet, Hawke continued.

"I'll need Fiona, as she said, for her Warden-y things. And a few other mages would be helpful, I have one in mind I can write to, she'll be willing to help I'm sure, and I could use the best you have here…"

"In short, me." Dorian offered with a confident smile.

It was Hawke's turn to roll her eyes. Fenris scoffed out loud, then grumbled something in Tevene that he made no effort whatsoever to hide from Dorian's hearing. Responding in kind, Dorian smirked and the two proceeded to have an exchange in their native tongue that Evelyn was sure she was better off not understanding. It ended with Fenris glowing and Dorian pushing his chair warily back.

Hawke smoothed out Fenris' raised hackles with a light pat on his arm. "If the 'Vint can manage to keep that ridiculous facial hair of his out of the way, then Dorian would indeed be helpful. I'm sure he can tell us all about whatever shady, corrupt magister magic we might need to deal with."

When face to face with Fenris and his lyrium, knowing full well what the elf could do with it, even Dorian knew better than to object to Hawke's slur against his countrymen.

"I'll also need that mark of yours Inquisitor. And before your giant oaf of a Commander shows up to protest, let's just remember that mark is how this all started and we're all kidding ourselves if we don't think that mark is how it's all going to end."

Blunt as ever, Hawke said what needed to be said. No one spoke after that, as everyone seated at the table awkwardly tried not to look at the faint green glow beneath Evelyn's glove, Evelyn included. She stretched out her hand then tucked it in her lap.

The mark would need to 'end' as sure as they needed to end Corypheus, but Evelyn had long ago decided that thinking on the personal consequences was best avoided until she had to actually cross that bridge. She'd only just started to feel as if she was _living _her life. If it was foolish to turn a blind eye to the fact that her life and death might be irrevocably tied to the force of something she neither understood, nor asked for, then for now, she would rather be a fool.

_But, 'magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him"... _

The small voice of hope inside her seemed to grow louder and more confident every day. It surprised her, but it was also the source of more than a few of her own smiles. Not thinking it would ever happen, she had been blessed to discover that she _could_ co-exist with her own magic, so maybe there would be a way to avoid the mark ruling over her future.

"Solas is knowledgeable about the magic of the mark." Evelyn did her best to sound positive. "We could consult him if you feel it would help."

Their contact was sparing and superficial since her training with the elf ended, but in the interest of doing everything possible to end the war, Evelyn would gladly seek Solas' aid once again. She could find a way to work through Cullen's inevitable criticisms on the matter.

Hawke looked back at Evelyn with narrowed eyes and her sarcasm waned. "No thanks. 'Chuckles' rubs me the wrong way, as does his magic." She paused and looked as if she wanted to elaborate, but then she just added, "I have my own bookworm friend who knows a bit about elvish magic…'

"Being that she's an _elf_, and caused not an insignificant amount of trouble with that _elvish magic_." More grumbling from Fenris, and more of Hawke ignoring it.

"Plus, I haven't told her we're expecting yet, so I owe her a letter." Her smug sideways glance had Fenris scowling and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Any further discussion, sarcasm, complaining or plotting was put on hold when the clamor of armored steps ascending towards their group echoed in the library. The birds far above flapped and cawed, agitated by the noise. When Ser Barris, accompanied by two of his captains, found their little coven in the corner, Evelyn stiffened. The Knight-Commander's usually calm aura seemed strained.

"Fucking Templars never sleep." Hawke mumbled as she rose from her chair. "Well, it's past this mage's bedtime anyway." She pushed through the knights, without offering any further farewells or goodnights, and Fenris followed her, effectively ending the meeting.

Ser Barris nodded politely at them both as they left, despite Hawke's epithet towards him, then he turned back to Evelyn. "Sorry to disturb, but I'm glad we finally found you, Your Worship. The Commander is requesting your presence immediately. He's with Sister Leliana. We'll escort you to them."

"I...uh...of course, Knight-Commander." Evelyn bid the other mages a hasty goodnight and left the library with Barris and his men. The uneasy feeling from earlier in the evening found the pit of her stomach again. Things were too quiet inside the fortress, even for as late as it was, and yet there was a buzz of energy in the air. They took a meandering route, inside, then out, then inside again. It didn't take Evelyn long to notice that there were Templar's patrolling everywhere, much more so than normal on a typical night watch. She waited until they were far from anyone's hearing to voice her concerns.

"Is something wrong, Ser Barris?" She had to practically run to keep up with the Templars' long and hurried strides. The lengthy amount of time that passed before he answered, all the while frowning, did nothing to reassure her.

"I'll leave it to the Commander to explain, Your Worship."

There was an uncharacteristic sharpness to his words, so Evelyn didn't push for any further clarification and she followed silently the rest of the way.

The Templars led her not to the rookery nor to Cullen's tower, but down into the dungeons. It was the only part of Skyhold still suffering from disrepair. She'd asked once during a council meeting if there were plans to bring the lower levels into better shape as they had done with the rest of the fortress, but both Cullen and Leliana looked at her like she was a dullard and Cullen just said 'It's a _dungeon_, Evelyn', after which the topic of conversation was abruptly changed and she never asked again.

At the end of a dank and torch lit corridor, lined with puddles of muck-filled water, they finally reached Leliana and Cullen who were standing outside a barred cell door. Leliana thanked Ser Barris and his captains who left immediately, hurrying away as swiftly as they'd brought Evelyn down. Evelyn thought Cullen would be quick to explain the situation, but it was again Leliana who spoke up. As she talked, Cullen just stared at the stones in the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw clenched. Evelyn could almost feel him vibrating with anger, but he also looked drawn and pale in the torch light. It was a sharp contrast to his warm and heated smile, lit by firelight in their room, only hours earlier.

"We have a defector, Inquisitor." There was a vaguely frightening and devious excitement in Leliana's voice. "A wayward Templar showed up on our doorstep this evening." She nodded her head at the cell behind her.

Cullen's gaze lifted and his eyes blazed. "The man in there is no Templar." Clipped words, with a hard and unyielding edge. He took a slow deep breath before he finally spoke directly to Evelyn, clearly trying to keep his agitation in check. "An enemy officer presented himself to the guards at the gate begging asylum in exchange for information."

"He claims to have been in operational command of the Red Templars under Bann Trevelyan." Leliana paused after mentioning Evelyn's father, almost as if she wanted to gauge her reaction to it. When Evelyn bit her lip and made an effort to remain impassive, the spymaster continued. "It seems the Bann is plotting a bold maneuver that we need to prepare for. _If _our new prisoner is to be believed."

Cold laughter now from Cullen to follow after his cold words. "Nothing this man says is to be believed. He was unstable even before the red lyrium. Now…" His sentence drifted off and he shook his head, disgusted, but his disgust seemed to encompass more than just one enemy prisoner.

"Did you know this man before tonight?" Evelyn asked.

Cullen spit out his reply, bitter as venom. "Yes, I knew him. We served in the Order together in Kirkwall. His name is Raleigh Samson."


	39. Kings and Queens

_**Chapter 39: Kings and Queens**_

Evelyn ducked into the dimly lit cell where the turncoat was chained to the floor. The atmosphere of despair inside the small space was pervasive and it pushed down heavily on the Inquisitor's shoulders. Beyond even what one would expect to find in a dungeon, the weight was magnified by the song of the red lyrium she could hear inside Raleigh Samson.

The familiar melodic hum she always associated with Templars, the quiet strength of a calm sea, was not what she heard in him. His chords were sharp and dissonant, a chaos of waves crashing against jagged rocks.

He sat in the dirt looking composed despite the furor of tainted lyrium running through him. He came to Skyhold of his own accord so there should be no reason for him to fight against his bindings. Still though, it was odd that he was so unperturbed when he had little control over his fate, be it from Leliana and Cullen or from the red lyrium.

Evelyn was reminded of her own introduction to the Inquisition, bound and subject to forces beyond her control, but Samson didn't look at all as terrified as she had been. He seemed indifferent.

"I'm surprised he let you come in here by yourself, '_Your Worship_'.

Evelyn couldn't help quirking a smile at the mocking tone. If he thought to get under her skin, he would be sorely disappointed. This was no more or less than she endured from Hawke on a daily basis.

Forcing away the smile, she readied herself for some verbal sparring. Cullen and Leliana's first efforts at extracting the motivation behind Samson's unprecedented defection had not yielded anything but a reiteration of the information he came prepared to offer them - that Bann Trevelyan had concocted a plot to assassinate not only Empress Celene but the Ferelden ruling family during a state visit to Denerim, leaving southern Thedas leaderless and even more divided than it already was.

The birth of the prince was a convenient occasion to host foreign dignitaries, but what was not widely known was that the Inquisition was working with the King and the Empress to convene peace talks between her and the Grand Duke on neutral ground during the celebrations. If it was true that the enemy knew of the peace talks, then the Game just became that much more complicated, and that much more deadly.

_As if it had ever been anything but._

Evelyn was not willing to let Leliana resort to torture to prove Samson trustworthy, nor was she willing to let Cullen expose himself to his former Templar brother for any length of time. If the song of the red lyrium upset Evelyn's psyche, the effect would be tenfold for Cullen no matter how long ago his last draught of the blue stuff was. Additionally, violence as the outcome of the Commander's interrogation seemed just as likely as it did for Leliana's.

So, Evelyn volunteered to try her own hand at more communication. Cullen objected loudly and refused to leave, stubbornly planting himself right outside the door. Leliana offered only a 'good luck, Inquisitor' before she left the dungeons, but her 'good luck' sounded more like 'fetch me when you fail.'

_But at least they trusted her enough to let her try._

"If the 'he' you're referring to is the Commander, Ser Samson, he trusts me."

A bitter laugh at that. "Doesn't sound like the high and mighty Knight-Captain I remember."

"He would probably say he wished no one remember him as such, but I respect everything about him, his past included."

The bitter laugh turned into a bitter sneer. "And what would you know of his past? Did he soften up the telling of it for you to make it easier to swallow? Did he say he was just being a good little Knight all those years in Kirkwall?" Samson spit on the floor, his eyes now averted from Evelyn's. "He trusted no one, let alone a mage. And if he found out one had lied to him? He would have taken a brand to their forehead, not taken them to his bed."

Evelyn didn't flinch even a fraction. Crude comments about her romantic relationship was another thing that Hawke had desensitized her to. She and Cullen were not hiding what they were to one another. If it was common knowledge among the enemy, then so be it. It was simply one more triumph against them.

Evelyn shrugged. "People grow. They become better versions of themselves. I'm not here to speak of Cullen, but he has grown as a person after becoming part of the Inquisition, as have I." She took a chance to move their discussion forward. "Is that what you're trying to do too, by coming to us, Ser Samson?

"Stop calling me that. I'm no fucking Templar any more. And there is no 'better version' of myself." His objection was quiet, as if he was too tired to continue to believe otherwise.

"Then why are you here?"

"You know very well what I told your people, little girl, I'm not repeating myself."

_It seemed they'd done away with honorifics. _

"The information you gave them is why you're not already with the Maker. I'd like to know what will keep them from sending you to Him anyway."

Samson was silent. He closed his eyes and she saw his mind drift away. His breathing was steady and he stayed sitting upright, as much as he could chained to the floor, but he swayed ever so slightly from side to side, as if he was riding on the tumultuous waves of lyrium inside him. Was he hearing it? If she spoke, would her voice bring him back to the here and now? Deciding to let him return on his own, she sat down across from him and waited.

Eyes still closed, he answered her. "If I've learned anything, Inquisitor, it's that there is no Maker. I couldn't give a shite what your Spymaster does to me and I care even less about Cullen."

"So what do you care about then? If you really cared about nothing you could have left my father's army and walked into the sea. Instead you came to us. Why?"

"Maybe I just wanted to make one last rebel yell." He laughed again but then he paused to concentrate on continuing to speak through the noise in his head. Evelyn knew what that was like too. Demon whispers weren't so different from lyrium's call.

He echoed her thoughts with his next words. "We're all the _fucking_ same. This world order, the old one, the new one, it's all the fucking same and all of our places in it are the same. Maybe I'm just realizing it now, or maybe I'm just willing to admit it now. And maybe I just wanted to give the whole damn thing a big _fuck you_ before I went out. So here I am. Your father's new world order can kiss my arse. It's the same as the last one, just singing a different song."

Sadly, she could refute nothing Samson had said thus far.

"I don't disagree with you, Ser. If this war has taught me anything, it is that people like my father need no other reason to be destructive than their own hubris. Whatever path favors that belief of superiority, regardless of ideology, is the path they feel they must follow. That being said, I feel as though I would be worse off if I abandoned my ideology over the actions of others, my father included, so I do my best to keep the faith."

Evelyn's breath caught in her chest at her own statement. For weeks she'd been vacillating on what her feelings truly were on the matter of her father. She knew she would have to come to some kind of inner peace on the subject lest old wounds fester and pollute her future. But that comment, made unexpectedly to a stranger, was more succinct an answer than she'd yet been able to give herself. Standing before this man she didn't know, whose own motivations she was supposed to be extracting, she saw reflected her own feelings of disillusionment. In his tired eyes she saw her questioning faith. In his slumped shoulders she saw her secret doubts. But in his set jaw, she saw her own stubborn will to continue on, even in the darkest hours before the dawn. And she saw that perhaps this man might be looking for forgiveness too, as she was. Not only forgiveness for herself but forgiveness for all of those who had leveled tresspasses aginst her.

And so, despite the resentful complaints of the soured Templar before her, she knew he was here for more than just a final act of defiance against a world that had betrayed and battered him. She _believed_ there was a vein of sincerity in Samson and perhaps something selfless in his surrender.

Now she just had to make Leliana and Cullen believe it as well.

"The information you've brought us could save many important lives, does that mean nothing to you?"

"Do you think I'm here to save 'important' lives? You aren't very bright are you, Inquisitor? You might have learned better in a Circle. It isn't _those_ lives worth saving. Everyone looks out for the 'important' ones. No one looks out for the little ones. The pawns and foot soldiers. The nobodies just trying to make it through without getting pissed on. Keep your kings and queens. And your Divines and Knight-Vigilants. And your Inquisitors and Commanders. I won't order one more good man or woman to fight or die for any of them. So just fucking do what we both know you'll do and order your own men and women to act on what I've told you. At least then all this bloody sacrificing might end sooner and spare more of the little people."

Evelyn wondered where she'd heard similar ill-tempered and cynical opinions from a jaded former-Templar before...

She smiled. _Cullen_.

These were definitely sentiments she could use to convince him.

xxxx

The cold rain drove down hard.

_All the better_, Cullen thought as he drove down his sword into a practice dummy. Despite the rain striking like icy needles on his bare back and shoulders, he was stifling hot and sweating. The only thing he could think to do to improve his temper, however, was hit something, so here he was.

It was rare for him, these days, to seek solace from his own foul moods anywhere but in Evelyn's arms but after her impassioned plea to take Samson under the protection of the Inquisition, she specifically asked him to take some time alone to think on the matter.

She knew very well what was going to happen during his 'alone time'. Cullen hit the dummy again. It splintered in two. He hurled his practice sword at the stone wall of the keep, then sat down in the mud like a petulant child. What she knew would happen was happening. He would silently rage for a while. He would brood. He would see that she was right, and then he would relent. It didn't help that Leliana had already agreed to Evelyn's request.

_Damn women._

Cullen turned when he heard splashing footsteps approach. Blinking away the torrents of rain he saw Rylen.

His second-in-command offered a curt '_Commander'_ and a quick nod as a greeting, then proceeded to strip off his shirt as well. At the touch of the cold water and biting wind, the former Knight-Captain turned his face up to the sky with a relieved expression.

Not really wanting 'alone time' in the first place, but not yet ready to concede to feminine wiles, Cullen struck up a conversation.

"So why are you out here? My sister's nagging finally get too loud?"

Rylen shook his head. "Nope. But your sister is still why I'm out here. She ordered me to get some air. You?"

"Same." Cullen grumbled.

Rylen fetched Cullen's discarded practice sword from the ground and pick up another for himself. "Spar?" He asked as he held out one of the weapons.

Cullen nodded and the two men began to exchange blows. At first half-hearted, they picked up in severity until both of them were huffing and puffing.

"The rest of the Templars aren't happy about Samson, you know." Rylen stated.

"Do you think _I'm_ happy about it?" Cullen bit back and swung out with his sword.

Rylen ducked and parried. "Clearly not."

"The man deliberately led some of our own down a foul path and then he actively fought against those of us here. He could have chosen differently. He could have joined me after Kirkwall, but he didn't. I allowed him back into the Order once already, after I _knew_ he was bad blood, and now I'm being forced to offer him sanctuary again. He doesn't deserve it."

Cullen let out a flurry of attacks, punctuating each one with an accusation. "When I think of the men and women we could have saved...the lives he showed blatant disregard for...the innocents he allowed to be corrupted…"

Rylen deflected each emotion filled strike and then blitzed back. After several more volleys, the two men had exhausted their muscles if not their anger. Both of them collapsed down onto the saturated ground, not even feeling the rain anymore.

"Don't think I don't agree, Commander, but I have to admit, I see his side."

Cullen glowered, but let Rylen continue.

"Now that I've stopped the lyrium I'm…" He searched for words. Or perhaps he searched for sufficiently grave words to express what he felt without lyrium. Cullen understood all too well.

"Now that I've stopped, I'm _angry_. I never felt 'used' by the Order or the Chantry. I made a choice to pursue this life with my eyes wide open. But now that I have some distance and some perspective, I'm just angry. Even if I knew why I was a Templar and why I _wanted_ to be one, I'm pissed as the Maker-damned void that my faith and my strength were exploited. For all the things we did that I knew were right and made sense, we had to do just as much bullshit that was just that. Bullshit."

The rain started to die down, along with Rylen's ire. When he spoke again, it was softer. "We were soldiers. We wanted to follow something, someone. But what do you follow when you've lost faith? We were lucky. When the Circles fell, every Templar had to make a choice for himself. I'm not going to judge a man, or those that followed him, when I know I could have easily made the same mistake."

Stubborn to the last, Cullen attempted retort. "But you didn't. You came with me and Seeker Cassandra."

Rylen shrugged. "You're not exactly easy to work for, you know. Maybe I did make a mistake."

Letting some of his tension go at Rylen's levity, Cullen slumped to lay flat on his back. A muddy puddle served as a pillow for his reeling head. "Maybe I'm just not ready to forgive yet." It was a difficult admission, but it was a start.

"You'll get there, Commander. We all will. It's the only way to move forward. We have to help where we can, when we can. It's never too late. Just like kicking the lyrium. And anyway, the women won't let us fail, remember?"

_Damn women._

xxxx

"Maker's Breath, you're filthy!" Evelyn watched a half-naked Cullen track a river of dirty water into their bedroom. "I thought maybe you'd get a drink, not roll around in the mud!"

He marched over to her and swept her up into a hug and kiss, _deliberately getting her just as filthy as he was. _She fought back at first, but then gave in. He tasted like Rylen's whiskey, so apparently he did get a drink in addition to getting muddy.

"So you're not angry with me any longer?" She asked, hopeful, but she also wasn't going to give in on her decision to help Samson.

Cullen set her down and finished peeling off his remaining clothes. Now that she was dirty too, she did the same.

"I'm still angry, but not at you. And Rylen made a good case for not being angry with Samson either. I'm not entirely sold, but I'm willing to give it time."

His answer was reason enough for her to wholeheartedly return his sweeping hug and kiss with her own. She sighed in both relief and accomplishment. There would be much to do in the morning. Plans and strategy. Hard work and hard decisions. But until then, kiss led on to kiss and sigh led on to sigh.

They tumbled into their bed, not caring about the muck they brought with them. The world was a messy dirty place, but that didn't mean they couldn't find their moments of happiness in it whenever they were able.

Cullen smothered her with his heavy bulk and his heated skin. "You've turned into a dangerous and manipulative minx, you know that?" He nipped at her ear and she cocked her head to offer him more of her neck.

"If you recall, I tried to tell you I was trouble when we first met." The last word devolved into a purr when he trailed his lips down the angle of her jaw.

"Are you sassing me?" He murmured against her throat, daring her to admit it.

She giggled a little and squirmed beneath him, egging him on. "And if I am?"

"Then I'll have to teach you a lesson, mage." Cullen hardened his expression and gripped her thighs. Breathless, she went limp as he slowly slipped inside her, his eyes locked onto hers, watching with satisfaction the shameless and silent pleasure appear on her face. Then he lowered himself and crushed her into an embrace, burying his head into her shoulder. It was a slow and deliberate march to their climax, each thrust of his hips and each arch of her back cried out with proud acceptance of who they both were, now defined by themselves and not by others. When it was done, their bodies still thrumming with contentment, Evelyn hugged him close. Arms and legs clinging to her Templar, she whispered in his ear,

"Thank you, Ser Cullen."


End file.
